Deadman Switch (8 page)

And if I guessed wrong, I would wind up making her last days of life that much harder to bear.

Absorbed in my own thoughts, I withdrew most of my attention from the world around me … and was therefore almost startled when I suddenly realized that Calandra was beginning to pay a somewhat grudging attention to our surroundings.

To a normal person, I supposed, it wasn't all that interesting a view. Once out of Rainbow's End itself, the few modestly tall spaceport buildings disappeared, replaced by the squatter structures that nearly always dominated underdeveloped places like this where land was cheap and plentiful. Beyond and between the buildings were scatterings of the giant, multi-trunked native plants that seemed to take the ecological place of trees on this world. Simple, quiet, and at first glance almost prosaic … but for Watchers, nothing about God's universe was really prosaic. For me, as for Calandra, the landscape outside was a rich and varied study into the spirit of a world.

A world of people, I quickly realized, who were still not at rest with their planet.

The tension manifested itself in a thousand different ways, through a thousand different details. Here, we passed a home whose owner was fighting to keep aloof from the planet, his property ringed with imported trees and bushes; elsewhere, there were the mute signs of others who'd given up such attempts but still hadn't found any peace. I'd felt all this the night before, and it was no less unsettling in the full light of day … especially since I had no idea what it was they were all striving
against.
The Solitaran environment was supposed to be one of the most benign in the colonies.

“Perhaps it's the Cloud,” Calandra murmured.

I looked at her, both startled and chagrined that she'd once again read my line of thought so easily. “The Cloud's not supposed to affect people,” I reminded her.

“Unless they're already dead?” she retorted grimly.

I swallowed, the sharp-acrid reminder of what she was facing curling my stomach. “Point, I suppose. But a lot of researchers have studied the Cloud, and none of them has ever mentioned any effect on the living.”

“How long have any of them been in it?” she countered. “Some of
these
people have probably lived here all their lives. Even then, you can see how subtle it is. Would the average researcher even notice it?”

“Unlikely,” I admitted. It would almost certainly take a Watcher to see it … and according to Randon, we were the first Watchers to come here.

A slight movement across the car caught the corner of my attention, and I looked over to see Randon eying me in obvious question. “There's a tension overhanging this place, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos,” I explained. “A feeling that the people living here aren't really comfortable with their world.”

I could tell by the slight cringing in Calandra's sense that she half expected Randon to ridicule either our assessment or us or both. But he just sat there, occasionally turning to gaze thoughtfully out the window, as I tried to put into words what it was she and I had felt.

“So you think it's a side effect of the Cloud?” he asked when I'd finished.

“Or else the paranoia of knowing that their whole existence rests on human sacrifice—” I broke off at the strained patience in Randon's eye. “Or it could be something entirely different,” I added. “At the moment all we know is that the tension's there.”

He nodded absently, gazing out the window again. “Any idea,” he asked slowly, “how long a person would have to be here for this tension to manifest itself? A year? More? Less?”

“No idea,” I shook my head. “You're wondering if that could be part of Aikman's trouble?”

Randon turned to Schock. “How long has Aikman been on Solitaire?”

Schock had his computer out; seated to Randon's other side, Kutzko was fingering the controls of his visorcomp. “Three years,” Schock reported. “Station Chief Li, on the other hand, has been here for—bozhe moi!—for eighteen years, ever since HTI got the place going. Assistant Managers Blake and Karash twelve and four, respectively.”

Randon nodded. “Yes, I remember those numbers,” he said absently. Already, I could see, he was calculating how he might use this insight into Solitaire's planetary ethos to his advantage. The sense of him had altered subtly from the evening before, and I could tell he was rethinking his earlier conclusion that having a Watcher around was merely a crutch. And if he could think that about
one
Watcher …

I felt Calandra's presence at my side.
She is far beyond the price of rubies …
I could only hope Randon would come to see that, too.

Behind his visorcomp, I could see Kutzko's eyes still moving slightly as he read, and I knew what records he was checking. Tense security guards had a tendency to make their opposite numbers equally nervous. “Well?” I asked him.

“Shouldn't be a problem,” he said. He didn't elaborate.

Like most of the rest of Solitaire, Cameo was built relatively flat, with the tallest buildings being only three stories high. The psychology of corporations regarding height and power being what it was, I wasn't surprised that HTI's headquarters was one of the latter, though I wondered on the way in what they could need with even that much room. The autopark guided the car to a VIP spot by one of the Elegy-style columns flanking the main entrance, and as we stepped out a man in a middle-level business capelet emerged from the wrought-styraline doors. A memory clicked as we approached him: HTI's president, O'Rielly, had been wearing an identical capelet clasp when Lord Kelsey-Ramos called to announce Carillon's acquisition of his company. Apparently HTI was one of those corporations which went in for the trappings of team spirit; whether those trappings actually accomplished what they were intended to was something we would soon find out.

“Good day to you, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos; welcome,” the man greeted us, nodding with the appropriate deference. His sense belied his words: we were considerably less than welcome here. “I'm Brandeis Pyatt of HTI Transport, Station Chief Chun Li's chief assistant.”

“Good day to you as well,” Randon nodded back. “I trust Mr. Chun Li is still expecting us.”

“Yes, sir, he's waiting inside in the board room.” Pyatt's eyes flicked once to me, recognition clearly there, as he turned to lead us inside. “If you'll follow me … ?”

We walked in silence down a corridor lined with attractive stonework. A few employees and guards watched with varying degrees of interest—and varying degrees of distrust—as we made our way. Once, I remembered, I'd likened this trip to an ambassadorial visit to a conquered country; now, it was beginning to feel more like an espionage penetration.

Eventually, we reached an inner door. Two guards with duplicates of Pyatt's capelet clasp as collar insignia stood flanking it; at Pyatt's nod, one reached over and pulled the heavy wooden panel open.

It was as if we'd suddenly been transported from Solitaire to a major corporation headquarters on one of the Patri worlds. Nothing in the hallway had prepared me for the vast expanse of space or the lavish display of furnishings, all of them that I could identify having been imported from off-world. A carefully orchestrated sensory bombardment, probably designed to both intimidate the visitor and heighten his subconscious estimation of HTI in the bargain. A thought occurred to me, and a quick check confirmed that the room could indeed be converted with only minimal effort from its current business setup to one more suitable for entertainment.

Seated around the massive formite-topped gemrock table filling out the room's center were two men and a woman I recognized from Schock's data cyl: Station Chief Wilmin Chun Li, First Assistant Manager Tomus Blake, and Second Assistant Manager Angli Karash. Between and around them at the table itself were scattered another half dozen aides and assistants; behind them, against the walls, other aides and guards stood or sat at auxiliary work stations.

“Good day to you,” Chun Li nodded gravely, rising to his feet as the others at the table followed suit. “I'm Station Chief Wilmin Chun Li; on behalf of HTI's Solitaire operation, I welcome you.”

A proud man, I saw, though not necessarily in the bad sense of that word. Proud of his accomplishments, proud of his organization and of the job he had done here … and more than a little nervous. Worried that Carillon would summarily dismiss him? It was a reasonable possibility, and a sadly not unreasonable fear: in corporate acquisitions like this a long and loyal work record often became a liability. Over it all, covering the other emotions like a translucent glaze, was a general sense of tension. The same tension, perhaps, that Calandra and I had sensed in Solitaire as a whole …

“Good day to you as well, sir,” Randon returned the nod. “I'm honored to be here.” He gestured to Schock and me. “May I present my aides: Dapper Schock and Gilead Raca Benedar.”

There wasn't a single wisp of surprise from anyone at the table over my name. Not that I really needed further confirmation that they were expecting me.

Chun Li exchanged polite nods with each of us and gestured to his sides. “My assistant managers: Tomus Blake and Angli Karash.”

Blake was angry, and he was making little effort to hide it. Tight-lipped, he nodded to Randon with barely adequate courtesy and barely glanced at Schock and me. It wasn't Aikman's version of anti-Watcher prejudice, though: Blake was angry at all of us. Perhaps he felt betrayed at HTI's inability to keep Carillon from taking over; perhaps it was simply that he was now likely to be frozen out of contention for Chun Li's position, a position he very clearly wanted.

Karash, in contrast, was much more phlegmatic than either of the two men; certainly more polite than Blake. Her sense was that of a capable, politically-minded supervisor maintaining a neutral wait-and-see attitude and preparing to roll with whatever rocking occurred. Though with fewer years invested in the Solitaire operation, she of course also had less to lose than they did. All things considered, she was still the most promising potential ally among the three.

The ritual exchange of nods over, Chun Li waved us into our chairs. “Please be seated, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos; gentlemen. I'm sure you have many questions you'd like to ask.”

“Yes, indeed,” Randon agreed. We sat down, Calandra and the two shields moving to the wall behind us. “First of all, I'd like to bring you greetings from my father, Lord Kelsey-Ramos, and the entire Carillon Group board.”

Seated against the wall almost directly behind Chun Li, impossible to miss whenever I looked that direction, was a stunningly beautiful woman.

It was an old ploy, but no less effective for all that, and the woman herself was better at it than many I'd seen. Her almost casual posture subtly emphasized the allure of breasts and legs; while her face, framed delicately by a hairsculpt much too expensive for her indicated corporate position, was coyly provocative. Each time our eyes met—which was practically every time I looked her direction—her lips curled in a barely detectable but nevertheless sultry half smile.

But however many times she'd laid out this snare, it was clear that she'd never tried it on a Watcher. Even as I felt my body stirring with the lust she was trying to distract me with, the rest of her sense came through the allure … and of its own accord my desire drained quietly away. She was cold, manipulating, arrogantly amused—so totally opposite, in fact, to the softly sensuous image she was trying to project that her seduction became little more than a gross parody; pitiful and disgusting instead of being alluring. I gazed into her eyes one last time, seeing there that she knew she'd failed—but had no idea why—and turned my eyes deliberately away.

“First of all,” Randon continued, “let me assure you that, unlike some corporations, Carillon is not in the habit of automatically replacing the directors and employees of freshly acquired companies …”

Perhaps they'd suspected that the long-distance seduction would fail; perhaps they were merely being cautious. Whatever the reason, they'd arranged a second distraction for me … a distraction that turned out to be far more effective than the first.

He was one of the HTI guards—or perhaps more precisely, he was dressed in an HTI guard's uniform: a fascinatingly twitch-faced man standing against the wall just inside the range of my peripheral vision. Twitch-faced, and radiating the most unstable emotional state I had ever sensed.

“… Our policy is to try wherever possible to maintain continuity and existing relationships, particularly when such relationships are clearly working well …”

He wasn't insane, at least not in any way I would have expected to read insanity. His emotions were simply on a permanent scattercoast. One minute he would be tense and nervous, the next fearful, the next inordinately pleased with himself, the next sullen and withdrawn.

“… What we
do
demand is ability. There's no place in the Carillon Group for incompetence. Any employee that has been getting a downhill coast while others looked the other way or covered up will be in for an extremely rude shock …”

No corporate guard chief could possibly tolerate a man that emotionally unbalanced, which left it a tossup as to whether HTI had raided a treatment hospital or weirded up one of their own guards with some schizm-inducing drug. But at this point the method didn't really matter. Try as I might, I couldn't entirely ignore the man; and the mental effort to do so threatened to become a distraction in itself.

“… So. There will be memos and perhaps some reorganizational papers coming down the line over the next few months, I imagine, as soon as we've had time to sift through all the records. But that ought to give you at least a brief overview of our plans. Are there any questions?”

The twitch wasn't just in his face, either. There were echoing spasms in varying degrees from shoulders, knees, and hands.