Timothy Zahn - Deadman Switch

"Gilead Benedar, sir," the head of my escort identified me. "Brought here as per your instructions."

The scientist's eyes flicked to him. "Thank you, Captain. You and the others may go."

The other nodded and signaled to his men, and the scientist and I were left alone.

For a long moment he continued to study me, giving me a vague feeling of being under a microscope. "So you're a Watcher," he said at last. "Not exactly what I was expecting."

I looked at his face, read the lie there. "That surprises me, sir," I told him evenly. Another flicker— "Especially since you've read all the information the Patri has on Watchers in general and on me in particular."

His reaction was mild surprise, open and obvious enough to practically light up the room. More confirmation, if I'd needed it, that he'd spent his life in science, insulated from the darker political and business worlds where a man usually learned to shield his thoughts and emotions more carefully.

But the surprise disappeared quickly, replaced by a strong and probably habitual skepticism. "Easy guess," he grunted. "Of course I would have learned all I could before deciding to send for you."

Another lie... "Perhaps," I nodded. "Except that it wasn't really your idea to send for me. You don't like me, you didn't want me here, and you'd very much like an excuse to toss me back off Spall and be done with it."

His face turned to stone, whatever traces of patronizing amusement he'd been feeling vanishing like smoke. "I see," he said through stiff lips. "Oh—please continue, since you know so much. If I don't want you, why are you here?"

"Because you need my help," I told him. "Because something about the thunderheads has you stymied, and you've been reduced to grasping at straws."

He gazed steadily at me. "Do you know who I am?"

I shook my head. "My experience lately has mostly been in business and—"

"I'm Dr. Vlad Eisenstadt."

I swallowed. It was a name even people preoccupied with business had heard of. A true Renaissance man of science, he was said to be equally proficient in biology, chemistry, cybernetics, and neuropsychology. In retrospect, I suppose, it was obvious that the Patri would have picked someone like him for this job. "I see, sir," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm a scientist, Benedar," he continued. "I deal with the objective world, and I distrust anything that is by nature subjective. Near the top of that list are mind-reading stunts and religions of all sorts."

"You sound like Dr. Chi," I murmured.

His sense took on a distinctly sour tinge. "Perhaps. It was he who recommended we call you in."

I blinked. "That's... very interesting, sir."

Something like a breath of relief touched his sense. Relief, and—paradoxically—a touch of disappointment, as well. "So you can't really read minds," he said, almost as if to himself.

"No, sir," I shook my head. "I would think the Patri files on the Watchers would have made that clear."

His lips tightened, and I could see he was trying to decide whether to terminate the interview right here and now. "If it helps, Dr. Eisenstadt," I offered, "I was able to sense what seemed to be emotional changes in the thunderheads the last time."

He nodded, not particularly impressed. "That much our sensors can do," he told me. "What we need—" He hesitated. "What we want is some way to determine when one of them is dead."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"What's the matter?—isn't the question clear enough?" he growled. "I want to know if there's a way to distinguish between a thunderhead that's dead and one that's just out... visiting."

I looked at him, listening to the way that last word echoed through my mind. "This bothers you, doesn't it?" I asked him quietly. "The idea that there could be something in us that exists independently of the physical body—"

"If you want to talk religion, Benedar," he cut me off harshly, "you can do it alone in a Solitaran prison cell. All I want from you is one answer, yes or no: can you find me a dead thunderhead?" He glared at me. "And if the answer is no, then we'll just have to go out and choose one at random to dissect."

I stared at him, throat tightening as understanding belatedly poured in on me. Man of God, he said, may my life and the lives of these fifty servants of yours count for something in your eyes... "What if you guess wrong?" I asked, striving for calmness. "What if you kill one of them?"

"What if we do?" he countered.

I took a deep breath, searching for some sort of non-religious answer to give him... and in that pausing, the emotion cleared somewhat from my vision, and I saw that the answer I sought was already there, buried in Eisenstadt's own expression. "If you do," I told him evenly, "what happened to Mikha Kutzko's needler could happen again. To your people."

His mouth twisted derisively; but it was a habitual derision, devoid of any strength. The attempt to block the muzzle of Kutzko's needler was abundant proof that the thunderheads had both the intelligence and the means to defend themselves, and Eisenstadt knew it. "There are ways to safeguard against that," he said anyway, clearly determined not to admit even rational fears in front of me. "But if it turns out that these things are more intelligent than, say, dogs or horses, it might strain future relations if we began by killing one."

His sense held very little doubt that such an intelligence level did in fact exist, but I passed over the chance to call him on yet another half-truth. "I understand," I told him, "and I'll do what I can. But I'll need Calandra's help."

Again, his mouth twisted. "Yes, I rather expected you'd ask for her—your crusade to save her from the Deadman Switch borders on the obsessive. Give me one good reason why I should let her get any more involved with this matter than she already is."

"Because two of us together will have a better chance of finding what you want than either of us singly," I told him simply. "And because it's in your best interests and those of the Patri to make the chances of failure as small as possible."

He snorted. "By that logic, I should invite a whole colony of Watchers here."

I shrugged. "I agree."

He glared at me, a token attempt at intimidation as he pretended to be weighing my words. In actual fact, I could tell he'd already decided that Calandra's presence was something he could tolerate. Especially given the potentially disastrous consequences if he didn't. "All right," he growled at last, shoving his chair back and standing up. "Let's go collect your friend and get out to the test area. Just remember that she'll be right up there with you when we start cutting... and if you choose wrong, you two will be among the first the thunderheads will fry."

And if that happened, the Bellwether would have to choose from one of its own to man the Deadman Switch on its journey out... "Yes, sir," I said, my lips dry. "I understand."

—

We didn't go ourselves to wherever Calandra's cell was—Eisenstadt changed his mind at the last minute and sent a pair of Pravilos for her instead while he and I proceeded along the fenced-off corridor to the Butte City. We were there, and I was studying and marveling at the elaborate sensor gear that had been attached to several of the thunderheads, when she was finally brought in.

I didn't know where she'd been kept all this time, or under what conditions; but it was abundantly clear that she hadn't been treated as politely as I had. Her face was pale and noticeably thinner, her movements as she got out of the car vaguely hesitant. I took a step toward her, paused as I saw the warning in her guards' eyes, and waited instead for them to come to us.

"You all right?" I asked her quietly, reaching forward as she approached to take her hand. The skin was cool, but was warming up even as I held it.