Timothy Zahn - Deadman Switch

"Of course it is," Randon agreed, throwing me an annoyed glance. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kutzko take a half step backward and pull out his phone, and I hoped fervently he hadn't taken my comment to be his cue. Clearly, Rybakov had some internal conflicts about her position here, and I was going to have to give her more study before I could even attempt to bring Calandra's case to her attention. "What Mr. Benedar was referring to, I think," Randon went on, "was certain minor differences between standard Patri law and certain particular variations that are applied here."

"All colony worlds have their own differences," Rybakov pointed out, still cool. "Local customs, local requirements—all of those enter into it."

Randon nodded. "Which is certainly how the law ought to be—"

"Sir?" Kutzko cut him off; and with that one word I knew something was wrong. "A moment, if I may."

Randon's eyes flicked to him, back to Rybakov and Freitag. "If you'll excuse us...?"

"Certainly," Rybakov said, an almost haunted look flickering across her face as she and the commodore stepped back.

"Trouble at the ship?" Randon murmured to Kutzko as he pulled out his own phone and keyed for the Bellwether.

"Actually, sir... we're not quite sure," Kutzko admitted.

Randon frowned at him; and then the connection came through. "This is Kelsey-Ramos," he said into the instrument. "What's going on?"

I already had my own phone out. "Well, sir, we're not quite sure," Seqoya's slightly embarrassed voice came. "We have a couple of customs people here who say they're supposed to check on how much cargo we still have and to arrange to have it offloaded."

"Their IDs check out?"

"Oh, yes, sir, all the way... but Ms. Paquin says they're frauds."

Randon threw me a quick glance. "Oh?"

"Yes, sir. Unfortunately, she can't tell me who they are or why they're here; just that they're lying about being from customs."

Randon pursed his lips. "They're not armed, are they?"

"No, sir." Seqoya was on more familiar ground here. "We checked them completely. They've got a recorder and package reader; that's all."

"And you did run their IDs?"

"Yes, sir. The central Cameo computer says they're legit."

"They could have been suborned," Kutzko murmured.

"Maybe," Randon growled. "Or maybe Paquin is just jumping at shadows." He threw me a glare... but it was a worried glare. "All right, Seqoya, tell you what. You have someone call the customs chief on duty at the spaceport and find out what you can about these two. We're on our way; do not let them move from the gateway—in either direction—until I get there."

"Understood, sir," Seqoya said.

Randon signed off, threw me another glare, and nodded at Kutzko. "Let's go," he said grimly.

They were still there when we arrived: two men in the official capelets and unofficial hauteur of customs officials, sitting at the gatelock guard station under the watchful eye of the Ifversn brothers. Outwardly, they were mad as hornets at being kept from their duties.

Inwardly, they were badly worried.

It didn't keep them from putting on a good act, though. We'd barely gotten inside the outer lock when the elder of the two was on his feet, glaring at Randon with a fair counterfeit of righteous fury. "Mr. Kelsey-Ramos," he snarled, "I want you to know that if you don't call off your shields immediately and let us get about our duties I will be forced to file official and formal charges against you, them, and the master of this ship."

"I'm sure everything will be straightened out in just a few minutes," Randon assured him, giving a good imitation himself of being impressed by the outburst. "Excuse me a moment, and I'll go find out just what the trouble is."

We passed them and headed on into the ship. Calandra and Seqoya were waiting at the door to the first room, the latter looking much more justified than he'd sounded on the phone. "Well?" Randon demanded, throwing a glance at Calandra and then shifting his attention to Seqoya. "What did you find out?"

Seqoya gave him a grim smile. "Something very interesting, sir: our visitors out there don't exist."

Randon frowned. "Explain."

"The customs duty officer at the spaceport doesn't know them," Seqoya said, ticking off massive fingers. "Neither does their central coordination office in Cameo itself. Neither do any of the customs officials, inspectors, or workers that I was able to track down and talk to."

Randon cocked an eyebrow at Kutzko. "Interesting, indeed. How do they explain this?"

"I haven't confronted them with it yet," Seqoya said. "I thought you might want to be here when we did."

Randon nodded. "All right, let's try it." He hesitated, then turned to Calandra. "You have anything to add?"

"You probably won't need to check their equipment," she said quietly. "They didn't seem at all protective of it. But you'll need to search the younger one's capelet—left shoulder, I think."

For a moment Randon looked at her as if she was joking. Then, pursing his lips, he gave her a brief nod. "Call a shield to take her back to her stateroom," he instructed Seqoya, "then meet us back at the gatelock."

Seqoya nodded and stepped to the nearest intercom. Glancing once more at Calandra, Randon led Kutzko and me back to the gatelock. "Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," he said briskly to the two men. "If you'll be so kind as to remove your capelets, I think we can clear this up right now."

There was no doubt about it: Calandra had zeroed in precisely on target. Both men's faces froze for a second, and the younger's left shoulder actually twitched. The elder recovered first. "Why?" he asked.

Randon didn't bother answering. Behind us, Seqoya ambled back into the room; catching his eye, Randon nodded toward the two men. "Capelets," he instructed. Seqoya nodded back and kept ambling, an almost lazy glint in his eye. The others saw it, too, and by the time he'd reached them both had their capelets off.

"Thank you," Randon said politely as Seqoya collected them. "Now, if you'll just sit back and relax, we'll take a look and see what we can find—"

We all heard the footstep behind us at the same time; and for the four shields recognition and reaction were virtually simultaneous. In a single catlike leap Kutzko was between the intruder and Randon, his and Seqoya's needlers out and tracking past my shoulder. The two Ifversns were just a shaved second slower, their weapons coming to bear warningly on the customs men. Heart thudding in my throat, I spun around and dropped to one knee.

For a moment no one moved or spoke. Randon recovered his voice first. "Hello, Mr. Aikman," he said. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that. It's bad for your health."

Slowly, the panic frozen into Aikman's face melted, and he lowered the foot that had ended up in midair. "I'm sorry," he managed. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"You certainly won't do it again, anyway," Randon said. "May I ask what you did mean to do?"

Aikman's eyes flicked past us to the customs men, his emotional balance already coming back to normal. "I heard there was some trouble at the gatelock," he said evenly. "I came to see if there was anything I could do to help."

Randon gazed at him for a few heartbeats, then nodded. "Certainly. The first thing you can do is tell me if you recognize those men over there."

Again Aikman looked, and I could sense him brace himself. "No," he said.

"He's lying," I told Randon quietly.

Aikman spun to face me, a wave of hatred washing toward me like the burning wind from an explosion. "And who are you," he snarled, "to pass judgment on another man's mind—?"

"He's a Watcher." Randon's voice was quiet, almost calm... but there was a steel underlying it that cut off Aikman's tirade in midsentence. "And if it comes to that," Randon continued, "who are you to lie to me?"