Timothy Zahn - Deadman Switch

"Who presumably is better able to see the financial and legal consequences," she retorted. "As well as just the—" She broke off.

"As well as the ethical ones?" Randon finished for her with a snort. He turned to me, and I braced myself for whatever was coming. "We're talking about smuggling, Benedar," he told me. "The illegal transport of metals out of Solitaire system."

The mental bracing did little good. For a half dozen heartbeats I still just stared at him, totally stunned. "But that's impossible," I managed at last. "How do they—?"

And then it hit me, a delayed-action kick, and my mouth went suddenly dry. "They... kidnap people for the Deadman Switch?"

"What, is that so hard to believe of our fallen human race?" Rybakov snorted cynically. "I thought you religious types were always weeping and wailing about how wicked we all are."

Randon's eyes flicked back to her. "You were going to tell me your side of it," he reminded her.

She glared at him, softened a bit. "Try to understand, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos, that I'm caught between two diametrically opposed requirements here. I'm sworn to uphold Patri law within Solitaire system, yes; but at the same time I'm under a less formal but no less pressing obligation to keep the supply of metals flowing from the ring mines. There's no easy way to reconcile these two goals."

"When it's a matter of people's lives—" I broke off as, in her eyes, sour contempt mixed with a sense that she'd indeed been right about not wanting to tell me about the smuggling. The righteously self-blind Watcher, unable to see the Broad Scheme Of Things...

"In case you haven't noticed," Rybakov told me, "the decision's already been made that Solitaire is worth people's lives."

"Condemned criminals' lives," Randon corrected her. "Not those of innocents."

She glowered at him. "All right, then, fine. You and your Watcher friend want to play God? Tell me how you'd go about stopping smugglers from moving in and out of a system this size."

Randon and I eyed each other. "At the risk of stating the obvious," Randon said, "what is Commodore Freitag doing about the problem? Between parties, that is?"

Rybakov snorted gently. "So you noticed the commodore's fondness for vodkyas, did you? That's part of the problem right there."

I remembered back to our brief meeting with Commodore Freitag at the governor's mansion... to my sense that the man wasn't nearly as slowed down as he'd appeared. The same tolerance to vodkyas Lord Kelsey-Ramos had often used to his advantage... "Your father enjoys parties, too," I murmured to Randon.

He eyed me thoughtfully, and I could see he'd picked up on what I was saying. "The same way?" he asked, making sure.

"Very similar, at least."

"Um." He looked back at Rybakov. "What size force does Freitag have to work with when he isn't partying?"

"Two Pravilo destroyers and thirteen or fourteen insystem corvettes," she said. "A shade on the light side for covering two planets and a gas giant ring system, wouldn't you say?"

"I would indeed," he admitted. "Hasn't he tried to get a larger force?"

"Roughly twice a month. So far the ships aren't available. Or so the excuse goes."

A sour look flicked across Randon's expression. "As if, you mean, someone high up in the Patri didn't want him to have any real chance of stopping the smuggler trade?"

She held his gaze steadily. "You said it. I didn't."

I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, Governor," I spoke up as they both looked at me, "but you said the force covers two planets?"

"Solitaire and Spall," she said shortly. "Double planet, remember? Or aren't you religious types able to count anything that doesn't come in threes, sevens, or twelves?"

"Spall?" Randon frowned. "Since when is Spall inhabited?"

"Oh, there've always been a handful of scientific parties poking around up there," she shrugged. "The theory being that every planet has some value to it, I guess." Her sense abruptly hardened. "Though at the moment Spall's primary value seems to be as a dumping ground for Halloas."

Randon threw me a glance. "As a what?"

Rybakov waved a hand in a brushing-off gesture. "Oh, the Halo of God's leaders decided they were getting too much interference with their God-reception down here, or some such nonsense, so a couple of thousand of them pulled up and headed to Spall where they could meditate in peace. We don't especially miss them."

Randon pursed his lips, and behind his usual ambivalence toward religious matters I could sense a clear distaste for Rybakov's blatant prejudice. "I'm sure the feeling is mutual," he told her coolly. "How long have they been up there?"

"A couple-three years, some of them," Rybakov said, her interest in this topic sliding rapidly toward zero. "They seem to be settling in to stay—they've got their primitive settlements scattered all over the planet."

"Perhaps they plan to apply for colony world status," I murmured.

Rybakov snorted, but I could see that the same idea had occurred to her, too. And that she didn't like it at all. "Never in the lifetime of the Patri," she said flatly. "Mr. Kelsey-Ramos, we're getting a little off the main subject here. Even if the Pravilo didn't have to keep an eye on those religious fools on Spall, it would still be hopelessly inadequate to patrol Solitaire and the ring mines, which would still leave me in the position of having to enforce an unenforcible law. So before you start laying blame perhaps you'll tell me what you think Carillon can do to change that."

"I don't know what my father will decide," Randon said evenly. "But you can rest assured that he won't settle for a business as usual that allows innocent people to be kidnapped and murdered."

Rybakov's face twisted sardonically. "I can hardly wait to see what the supremely ethical Lord Kelsey-Ramos comes up with." Abruptly, before Randon had figured out whether or not she was being insulting, she got to her feet. "But until that day of miracles, I still have a government to run. Good day to you, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos."

"Good day, Governor." Randon keyed for the door, and as it opened I caught a glimpse of Kutzko waiting to escort her back to the gatelock.

The door closed behind her, and I turned back to Randon. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you back there," I apologized. "The idea of smuggling out of Solitaire had never occurred to me before."

"It occurred to someone in HTI," he grunted. "How to get around license limitations, in one easy lesson."

A memory clicked. "A short course other corporations seem to have taken, as well," I said slowly. "Last night—the tension directed toward you at the governor's reception? I would say they all knew you had the raw information that would let you figure out HTI's smuggling connection."

He nodded sourly. "Makes sense. And they're all worried stiff that Carillon will bring the Patri down on them instead of joining in the game."

I shivered. The thought of kidnapping another human being and deliberately killing him... "I wonder if there are any smugglers in the system at the moment."

"Probably." Randon's eyes narrowed slightly as he picked up on my tone. "Why?"

"It could be the answer to our problem with Calandra," I told him. "Almost certainly a smuggling ship will be crewed by non-Solitarans, and by definition they'll already have committed murder at least once—"

"Wait a minute," Randon cut me off. "Let's not jump overboard on this, shall we?"

I stared at him for a long second. In the space of a single heartbeat his sense had totally changed. "What's the trouble?" I asked carefully. "Carillon will be calling a halt to HTI's smuggling arrangements, won't it?"

"That'll be up to my father and the rest of the board," he snapped. "Not to me."

For a minute we just looked at each other. Then, finally, he sighed. "Look, Benedar. I don't have to be religious to agree that what the smugglers are doing is about as odious a business as I've ever heard of. But the minute Carillon or anyone else files that kind of complaint against HTI, their assets and activities will immediately be frozen. Immediately."