Timothy Zahn - Deadman Switch

A flash of surprise crossed her sense. "Wait a minute, I don't want you to get involved—"

"I'm already involved," I said, backing out of the room. "I'm a Watcher."

The door closed on her, and Kutzko cocked an eyebrow at me. "You really believe her?"

I nodded, feeling my muscles trembling. The confrontation had been more of a drain than I'd realized. "Yes," I said. "I'm a Watcher, aren't I?"

He thought about pointing out Calandra was one, too, thought better of it, "So what now?" he asked instead.

"I go hit Mr. Kelsey-Ramos with it, of course," I said, starting down the corridor.

"He won't like it," Kutzko warned.

"I can't help that," I called back. "See you later."

—

I found Randon in his stateroom, going over the Whitecliff numbers with Dapper Schock, one of Lord Kelsey-Ramos's top financial experts. "Can it wait?" he asked with a touch of annoyance as I came in. His full attention was on the report, and he clearly wanted to keep it that way.

"The details can, sir, if necessary," I told him. "But I think you ought to hear the high points right now. I have reason to believe that Calandra Mara Paquin, our... outzombi... didn't commit the crime she was condemned for."

The financial data was abruptly forgotten. "Oh, really?" Randon frowned, leaning back in his seat. "What makes you think that?"

I raised my eyebrows, and he half smiled. "Yes, of course," he conceded wryly. "Foolish question."

Schock cleared his throat. "Calandra Mara, did you say? Isn't that a Watcher-style middle name?"

"Humility name, yes," I corrected him. "Does that make a difference?"

"Well..." He glanced at Randon. "It's a general rule, Benedar, that a professional magician, say, can easily blaze out another magician's tricks, simply because he knows how all of them are done."

"My observational skills aren't tricks," I told him. "Certainly not in that sense. It's a matter of having been trained since childhood to really see God's universe."

"We're aware of that," Randon cut in, a little uncomfortable at even so tame a religious reference. "I think Schock's point was that a Watcher who knows what you're looking for might be able to mislead you. Bury the appropriate signals, maybe, or distract you at just the right moment."

"I understand," I nodded. "I don't think she could misdirect me that completely, but I suppose it's theoretically possible. Let me turn it around, then. If she is lying about it, what can she hope to gain?"

"A stay of execution?" Schock suggested. Clearing the display of financial data, he busied himself with the keys.

Randon shook his head. "Hardly seems worth the effort. The best she could hope to get would be a few more weeks."

Schock was peering at his computer screen. "Here's the record," he said. "Uh... she was convicted of throwing a bomb into a street crowd from a window in the Outbound HQ of Melgaard Industries. Seen by witnesses... caught when she tried to leave the building."

I chewed the back of my lip. "Any extenuating circumstances?"

He looked at me in astonishment. "For a bombing?"

I couldn't think of one, either. "How about possible mistaken identity, then?" I asked. "How would she have gotten into the Melgaard building, for starters?"

"She was employed there," Schock said, scanning the display again. "She'd been working as a reception/converser for the previous two months."

"Nice cushy job for a Watcher," Randon grunted. He considered for a moment. "What was the track record on the trial itself?"

"Uh..." Schock flipped through a few pages. "From what we've got here it looks pretty standard."

"No extraordinary measures? No indications they did any psychological reconstructions or anything else of that sort?"

"No, sir. Just a standard trial and the requisite double appeal. It's not even clear anyone asked for pravdrug questioning."

Randon looked up at me, shook his head. "Sorry, Benedar, but if Melgaard wasn't willing to put any money or influence into her trial, they must have been convinced she was guilty."

"Or at least convinced she was someone they didn't want around?" I asked pointedly.

Randon gave me a hard look. "I'll admit to the existence of prejudice in the Patri and the colonies," he said steadily. "I won't listen to specific accusations without proof."

A reasonable enough caution under most circumstances. Here, in the privacy of his own ship and stateroom, it made for a weak argument, and he knew it. "All right, then," I said. "Let's just talk theoretical. Assume for a moment that Calandra was, in fact, framed; and further assume it wasn't an isolated incident."

"Grand conspiracy?" Randon said with an amused half smile. "Oh, come on. What would anyone have to gain by dropping Watchers one by one down the chute?"

"Who says we're just talking Watchers?" I countered. "There are any number of minorities out there, religious and otherwise, that could be targeted."

"To what end?" Schock asked.

I gestured to his computer. "Check and see if Melgaard Industries has a transport license for Solitaire, will you?"

He turned to the instrument; but Randon spoke up first. "No, they haven't," he said. "They've been trying to get one at least as long as Carillon has." His eyes were on me, no longer amused. "What's your point?"

"That they may have abandoned Calandra for reasons other than guilt."

"Such as internal pressure?" Schock hazarded. "Melgaard's home office hoping to get in good with the Patri by not putting up a fuss over the creation of new zombis?"

The creation of new zombis. Somewhere in the back of my mind I marveled at how neat and sanitized euphemisms could make death sound. "Yes, except that the pressure may not have all been internal. Some could have come from outside Melgaard."

Schock cocked a thoughtful eyebrow. "As in from the Patri themselves?"

"Why not? As long as the Solitaire ring mines are operating as profitably as they are, they have to keep finding people to die."

"Hold it right there," Randon growled. "If you're suggesting the Patri are putting pressure on the judiciary—and that the judiciary is knuckling under to that pressure—then you're skating dangerously close to slander and possibly even treason."

Schock and I exchanged glances. "It's not a matter of slander, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos," I said. "Any reasonable person has to acknowledge the pressure exists. The Patri have to keep up the supply of zombis, and they have to do it against a long history of public inertia against death penalty overuse."

"And it's going to get even worse," Schock murmured. "As soon as they get that fourth Rockhound 606 into full-stream operation out there, they're going to outstrip the licensed transport capability again. Either the Patri will have to up the numbers even more—which means more zombis—or else find a variation of Mjollnir drive that can handle bigger freighters."

I nodded agreement. "As I said, the pressure exists. The only question is whether the Patri and the judiciary are yielding to that pressure."

For a minute the room was silent. A brief and almost undetectable shift in the pseudogravity told me the Bellwether had altered course again. Dimly, I wondered what would happen if rigor mortis paralyzed the body at the helm before the ten-hour trip through the Cloud could be completed. Though presumably after seventy years Dr. DeMont and the other high priests of this sacrifice had found a way around that particular problem.

"Well," Randon broke the silence at last. "I suppose there's no harm in taking a look into this." He seemed to brace himself as he looked up at me. "Unfortunately, as far as Paquin's particular case goes..." He shrugged uncomfortably.

I looked him straight in the eye. "Mr. Kelsey-Ramos, she's innocent."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, what do you expect me to do about it?"