Timothy Zahn - Deadman Switch

She shrugged, long politician's practice enabling her to cover most of her own flicker of discomfort. She didn't really want to talk about it, and yet on another level knew she had to. "Solitaire is an embarrassment, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos," she said bluntly. "The Patri can't afford to give up the wealth that flows in from the ring mines; but on the other hand, they have to condemn people to death to get it. It's not an especially popular policy." She glanced at me, the first time since our introduction that she'd done so. "We're not just talking fanatical religious minorities like the Watchers or Halloas, either—most people on the Patri and colonies feel at least a little uncomfortable with the whole idea."

"The Halloas?" Randon frowned, also glancing at me. I shrugged fractionally; I'd never heard the reference, either. "What is that, a religious sect?"

Rybakov waved a hand depreciatingly. "I'd hardly call them organized enough to be a sect," she snorted. "They're a group of fanatic-mystics who believe Solitaire is the seat of God's kingdom, or some such nonsense."

Randon glanced at me again. "Why?—because it requires a blood sacrifice to get here?"

Rybakov snorted, and I winced at the contempt underlying her political facade. Clearly, she had even less tolerance than the average citizen when it came to religious matters. Possibly one reason she was a governor. "Not that I've heard, though I wouldn't put it past them," she said. "No, it's supposed to be something about the Cloud being the halo of God. From which it apparently follows immediately that this is the heavenly kingdom." She waved a hand around her.

Someone nearby snickered, just audibly; but on Randon's face there was no answering contempt. "Sounds crazy," he agreed evenly. "And you see these Halloas as possibly giving Solitaire even more of a bad image than the Deadman Switch already has?"

Rybakov looked him straight in the eye. "It's possible," she told him. "Most of the corporations holding Solitaire licenses have made an effort to keep the Halloas' existence from leaking out."

"And you think Carillon may not?"

Again, a meaningful glance in my direction. "Your father's... peculiarities... are well known."

"So are his business skills," Randon returned, his voice a few degrees cooler. "Or are you suggesting he doesn't understand the effect of image on public psychology?"

Surprisingly, she smiled. "Such as the effect a business renegade's image might have on those he's going to be working with, for example?"

Randon frowned, then smiled in return. "Oh, come on, Governor. You aren't going to tell me that all these crafty business professionals are that taken in by my father's public posturings, are you?"

She shrugged, eyes still measuring him. "As I said, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos, the business community here is a little touchy. No offense meant."

"None taken." Surreptitiously, Randon's fingers curved in a subtle hand signal. Beside him, Kutzko responded by reaching for his phone, as if a message were coming in. "Actually, Governor—"

"Excuse me, sir," Kutzko interrupted smoothly. "May I speak with you for a moment? Security matter."

"Certainly. If you'll excuse us, Governor...?"

She nodded, and we moved back toward an empty spot on the floor. "Well, Benedar?" Randon murmured, looking at Kutzko as if discussing the imaginary security matter with him.

"The Halloa story is part of the truth, but not all of it," I told him. "In fact, I'd go so far as to suggest the Halloas may be nothing more than a convenient excuse they're using to cover up whatever it is about you that's really making them nervous."

He frowned. "What it is about me? I assumed you were the problem."

"Not this time, sir. You're the one they're all watching like hawkrens."

Randon pursed his lips. "Kutzko?" he invited.

Kutzko shook his head slowly. "I don't think there's any personal danger to you, sir, at least not here and now. But I'd have to agree with Benedar, that you're the one they're interested in."

"And there's something else, sir," I put in. "When Kutzko did his 'security matter' gambit, Governor Rybakov reacted rather strongly."

Kutzko frowned at me. "She did, did she? I didn't notice that."

"She's very good at hiding these things."

Randon eyed me thoughtfully for a moment. "And they all seem to know," he said slowly, "about our meeting at HTI this morning, don't they?"

Kutzko and I exchanged looks. "You think they might know that Schock got away with more than HTI wanted you to have?" Kutzko ventured.

Randon cocked an eyebrow at me. "Benedar?"

I let my eyes sweep the room, relaxing my mind and letting it dig out every nuance of feeling it could. "I think it might be a good idea, sir," I said, "to make sure the Bellwether is ready for trouble."

Randon snorted gently. "Let's not get overly melodramatic," he advised. Still, I could tell that he too was growing uneasy.

As was Kutzko. "Sir, I have to agree with Benedar again," he spoke up. "If it really is those cyls that have all these people nervous, they must be blazing valuable. To someone, anyway."

"Probably right," Randon grunted. "All right, go ahead. Keep it quiet, though—if someone tries to get them, I want him to get close enough for us to grab."

Kutzko was already making the connection. "Seqoya?—Kutzko. What's the status on the ship?"

I couldn't hear the answer, but Kutzko's sense indicated everything was normal. "Well, that may be changing in the next few hours," Kutzko told him. "I want the perimeter extended fifty meters, a cat-yellow on the gatelock, and a double cat-yellow on Mr. Schock's stateroom. You'd better warn him that someone may be after those cyls he brought home from HTI today; he ought to know how to protect them." He got confirmation, raised his eyes to Randon. "Anything else, sir?"

And I had a flash of inspiration. "Have Calandra brought to the gatelock," I said.

Both of them looked at me; and after a moment they both understood. "Excellent idea, Benedar," Randon said, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Do it, Kutzko."

Kutzko nodded and relayed the instructions. "All set, sir," he said, lowering his hand.

"Good." Randon glanced around. "Let's rejoin the party, then."

A few meters away, Governor Rybakov was talking quietly with a man dressed in the white uniform of a Pravilo flag officer. Commodore Kelscot Freitag, I remembered from Randon's briefing: in charge of security for Solitaire system.

A man who also clearly enjoyed his vodkyas. Even as Rybakov took his arm and steered him toward us, I could see the slight glaze over his eyes and the twitching of muscles in his cheeks. "Mr. Kelsey-Ramos," Rybakov nodded to Randon. "That security matter all cleared up, I trust?"

"Yes, thank you," Randon assured her.

"Well, if you should have any trouble," Freitag spoke up, "I'm the man to see. Commodore Kelscot Freitag, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos."

"Pleased to meet you." Randon nodded to him, and I revised my opinion of the man a few steps upward. Despite the effects of at least three separate types of vodkyas showing in his face, his speech and eye-focus showed his mind wasn't nearly as touched as I'd first assumed. "Thank you for your offer of assistance, but I suspect any security problems I might have will take place on the ground."

Again, Rybakov's sense flickered with uneasiness. Freitag's, in contrast, remained untouched. "Doesn't matter," he rumbled. "As an oftworlder, you come under Pravilo jurisdiction whether groundside or out in the ring mines."

"Though it is Solitaran law that applies," I murmured.

Both he and Rybakov frowned at me. "Solitaran law is sanctioned by the Patri and administered by their representative," the governor told me stiffly. "Which makes it as much Patri law as anything else."