Deadman Switch (18 page)

For a second, superimposed on Bartholomy's satisfaction, I had a sense of how he would feel when he found out I'd lied to him. An almost choking lump of shame and guilt rose into my throat, and I swallowed hard. It didn't seem to help. “Thank you, sir,” I said around the lump. “Uh … Mr. Kelsey-Ramos wanted it kept as quiet as possible, incidentally.”

His eyes twinkled a bit. “Don't worry. I want to be the one who gets to break the news to Aikman when he finally misses you.”

I returned his smile as best I could. “Yes, Captain. I'll … see you at the rings.”

I left.
Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them … Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them …
I said it over and over again to myself as I walked back along the
Bellwether's
deserted corridors … trying to erase the mental image of the man whose trust I'd just betrayed.

In my eight years with Lord Kelsey-Ramos I'd had the opportunity to meet and even study a great many liars, both those who lied only when they considered it necessary and those for whom it had become second nature. From that experience—from watching that downward spiral into habitual deceit—I'd always assumed a second lie would be easier to tell than a first.

It wasn't true.

Bartholomy's face continued to hover before me as I walked down the corridor toward Calandra's stateroom/prison. His face, reacting to my lie … reacting to the chewing out he would undoubtedly receive from Randon when my lie was exposed … reacting to the possible loss of his job.

The plans of the upright are honest; the intrigues of the wicked are full of deceit …

Through his mouth the godless is the ruin of his neighbor …

It made me ache inside, and with each step I took I had to fight against the growing desire to call the whole thing off.

Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them …
An innocent life was at stake here … and besides, I'd already come too far to stop.

One of Kutzko's shields would be standing guard outside Calandra's stateroom, I knew, but I had no idea which one it would be. One of the Ifversn brothers, I hoped; or even Seqoya, who would probably break me in two if he ever suspected what I was doing. Not Kutzko, though. I didn't want to have to lie to Kutzko.

I reached the intersection of my cross-corridor with Calandra's. Steeling myself, I stepped around the corner—

“Thought those were your footsteps,” Kutzko commented genially. “Out a little late, aren't you?”

I forced moisture into my mouth.
Through his mouth the godless is the ruin of his neighbor …
“A little. Mr. Kelsey-Ramos's business doesn't always keep neat hours.”

I saw his sense shift smoothly from mildly alert boredom to full interest. “What kind of business?”

“My break, maybe,” I said, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Governor Rybakov called Mr. Kelsey-Ramos half an hour ago. She wants me to bring Calandra to Cameo to meet with her right away.”

Kutzko's forehead furrowed slightly; and even as the interest sharpened I could sense the first stirrings of suspicion. “What, at this hour?”

“That's what she said,” I said, striving hard to control my face and voice. It worked; even through my guilt I could hear how sincere I indeed sounded … and the ease of that success chilled me to the bone.

Kutzko pursed his lips. “I don't like it,” he said flatly. “Smells like a blazing setup.”

I shrugged. “A setup for what? What ulterior purpose could she want us for?”

He glared thoughtfully into space. “No idea. Hang on—”

He keyed his visorcomp, quickscanned whatever record he'd called up. “Aikman seems to have been a good boy today—stayed aboard ship the whole time. I wonder if he could have found a way to get someone else to file that legal thing of his.”

I felt sweat breaking out on my forehead. Part of Kutzko's job was to be suspicious, but if he kept at this long enough he was going to wind up ruining everything. “I really don't think this is Aikman's doing,” I told him. “Governor Rybakov didn't show any signs of deceit.”

“You were there for the conversation?—half an hour ago, you said?”

I could sense the thought underlying the question, that perhaps he ought to discuss this with Random. The last thing I could afford. “No, I wasn't actually there,” I improvised desperately. “I was down in my stateroom when the call came through—like Mr. Kelsey-Ramos, I was getting ready for bed at the time. But he did feed me a copy of the recording afterward.”

He frowned, and I could see the idea of consulting directly with Randon fade with the realization that he would risk waking him up. “I still don't like it,” he said at last, “but I guess I'm game. Give me a few minutes and I'll rouse Brad out of bed.”

I bit the back of my lip. Right here was where I was going to find out just how good my powers of persuasion were. Just how good a liar I really was. “Sorry—I'm sure he'll be disappointed at not being woken up for this,” I spoke up as Kutzko stepped toward one of the wall intercoms. “But the governor said we should come alone.”

He paused. “Oh, she did, did she?” he asked quietly. “Interesting.”

“Not really as interesting as you might think,” I reassured him. “My guess is that certain things she and Mr. Kelsey-Ramos discussed this morning may come out in the discussion, and that she'd rather not have any extra parties along.”

“Ms. Paquin isn't an extra party?” he asked pointedly.

“She's involved in other ways,” I said, hoping he would let it go at that.

He didn't. “Sorry, Gilead, but this whole thing smells putrid. For one thing, doesn't it seem strange to you that after kicking so much Rybakov should suddenly roll over and start cooperating?”

“It's been her government, not her specifically, that's been opposing us,” I reminded him. “More importantly, as of this morning she owes Mr. Kelsey-Ramos a favor. A
big
one.”

“And what if she plans to clear the record by doing him a pseudofavor in return?” he retorted. “Such as ‘rescuing' a couple of Watchers who just happen to have gotten themselves kidnapped?”

I took a deep breath and braced myself. This one was going to hurt both of us. “All right, then,” I said, putting a note of disgust into my voice. “Sure, send Seqoya along. Ruin the arrangement, and maybe a chance for Calandra to see her own record cleared along with it. And, incidentally, maybe send Seqoya to his death; because if someone really wants to kidnap us, they won't let even him stand in the way … and you know as well as I do that out in the streets a shield can't really do much more than make a kidnapping or murder more expensive. They'd kill him for sure, and maybe kill us in the process.”

I'd expected Kutzko to take offense at my little tirade, but I'd expected wrong. For a long moment he gazed quietly at me, his sense that of indecision mixed with an odd touch of resignation, almost covering the hidden pain at the reminder of just how limited even his considerable shielding skills really were.

And over all of it was a growing sense that he had little choice but to trust me.

First Captain Bartholomy, and now Kutzko. Trusting in their betrayer.
Brother will betray brother to death …

“You really believe Rybakov is playing this straight?” Kutzko asked quietly.

“I wouldn't be going if I didn't,” I told him. “It may be Calandra's only chance.” The words, in absolute terms, were true, and somehow it made them easier to say. The way he would interpret them, of course, still made them a lie.

He took a deep breath, exhaled it noisily. “All right,” he said, suddenly briskly decisive as he stepped to Calandra's door and rapped twice. “You'd better be right, though,” he added, busying himself with the lock. “You get yourself killed out there and I'll blazing-well never speak to you again.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” I managed.

The door slid open, and Kutzko leaned partway inside. “Ms. Paquin?—good, you're still dressed. Come on; you and Mr. Benedar are going on a little trip.”

“What? Why?” her voice asked softly as she came around a corner into view. Her eyes flicked over Kutzko, automatically probing him. She looked past him to me—

Our eyes met … and hers were suddenly wide and alert.

Once again she'd read me with ease … and even if she couldn't know exactly what it was I had planned, she could clearly tell that something was wrong. With Kutzko's back still to me, I threw her a warning look, a fractional shaking of my head. Her lips twitched, and she swallowed. “Where are we going?” she asked, the question clearly directed toward Kutzko.

“Governor's mansion,” he told her briefly. “Mr. Kelsey-Ramos has gotten you a hearing.”

Again her eyes read me … read me far too deeply … “I don't want to go,” she said, stopping abruptly halfway out of her stateroom.

Kutzko threw me a startled glance. “Why not?” he asked.

Her tongue flicked across her upper lip, eyes still on me. “I … just don't,” she said lamely.

Kutzko snorted. “You don't have a choice,” he told her flatly, his sense filling with annoyance. “You're going to Cameo. Period.”

She took a deep breath; paused … and through the dark screen that seemed to surround her emotions I could sense caution and fear rising within her. She opened her mouth; closed it and gave a short nod instead.

“All
right,”
Kutzko said, relieved at not having to continue the argument. “Come on, Gilead; I'll escort you to the gatelock.”

And that was it. In a few short minutes—with nothing but my words and my ability to read people, I had persuaded two intelligent and conscientious men to assist me in releasing a condemned prisoner.

We walked down the corridor to the gatelock … and in the back of my mind I wondered uneasily if perhaps Aikman's fears about the powers of Watchers hadn't been so exaggerated after all.

W
E LEFT KUTZKO STANDING
at the gatelock; and as the car took us off across the floodlit parking field Calandra turned to me, worry and suspicion hanging around her like a fog. “All right, Benedar, just what in the Patri is going on?” she demanded.

“I'm getting you out of here, that's what,” I told her. “There's a ship laid on for us across the field.”

Surprise, I was ready for; even confusion, possibly even dazed gratitude. I wasn't prepared for utter fury. “What?” she all but shouted in my ear. “You blazing idiot—have you gone completely out of your mind?”

“Calandra—”

“Do you have any
idea
what kind of trouble you've just gotten yourself in?” she cut me off. “They'll turn you inside out when they catch us.”

“That depends on what we find in the meantime, doesn't it?” I said, fighting to regain my balance against the verbal onslaught.

“We'll find your brains scattered across the landscape,” she snarled. Abruptly, she leaned forward to the car's microphone. “Car: cancel destination and return us to the
Bellwether.”

“Cancel that!” I barked, grabbing her arm and shoving her back into her seat. “Car: cancel destination. New destination: launch catapult fifty-seven, Rainbow's End Spaceport.”

I turned to Calandra, a sudden surge of white-hot anger hazing my vision. “We're going into space,” I snarled. “We're going because it's the only way to get a replacement zombi for you.”

She stared into my face, her own anger draining into fear and dread. “They'll execute you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Instead of one zombi, they'll have two. Can't you see that?”

I took a shuddering breath, forcing down my anger. I was battling the whole universe on her account; the last thing I wanted was to fight her, too. “There's a risk, yes,” I acknowledged, trying to hide my own fears. In her face I could see that the attempt was only partially successful. “But if we don't try they
definitely
have you. Guaranteed.”

She licked her lips. “Gilead … I'm not worth it. I'm really not. Please—turn back and forget all this. Please.”

I sighed. “I'm sorry, Calandra. You're asking me to sit by and let an innocent person be killed. I just can't do that.”

A stab of pain flicked across her face. “What if I told you I
wasn't
innocent?” she challenged. “That I really
did
kill all those people?”

She was good, all right. I could almost believe the sincerity behind the words was real … but equally strong, and equally believable, was the fear she felt for me. “And I suppose then that you'd like me to believe that you, a cold-blooded murderess, would actually care what happened to me, a near-total stranger?” I asked pointedly.

She closed her eyes, blinking back tears. “Gilead … I don't want to go to my death knowing I caused yours. Please,
please,
take me back.”

Hesitantly, I reached over and took her hand. It resisted for a moment, then reluctantly accepted the touch. “I can't let you die without a fight,” I told her gently. “Not while there's a chance to clear you. Certainly not when there are people far more deserving of death within our reach.”

She opened her eyes again. “What do you mean?”

I looked upward, at the stars dimly visible above the spaceport floodlights. “There's a thriving smuggler trade operating out there,” I said, hearing more bitterness in my voice than I'd expected. “They kidnap people to run their Deadman Switches in and out of the Cloud … and the Patri look the other way while they do it.”

Calandra shivered, my own disgust and horror mirrored in her sense. “And you think the two of us can stop it?”

“I'm not
that
much of an idiot,” I snorted. “No, I've met the only man who has a real chance of doing that. The problem is that he wants to kill it with a single blow, and he's not ready yet to do that.”