My subjective feeling was that the contact was made faster this time than the last, but as nearly as I could tell everything else was the same. Zagorin straightened abruptly from her meditative slouch, glazed eyes opening to stare at us. “Greetings to you,” she whispered, the husky sound again containing overtones that never existed in her normal voice. “We are the thunderheads. We have waited long for … your return.”
Eisenstadt cleared his throat, and I could tell he was mildly impressed by the thunderheads’ easy acceptance of our name for them. “I greet you as well,” he said. “Yes, I’m afraid it has been a while. We had a great deal of work to do, and it seemed best for us to finish it before talking to you again. For one thing, this sort of communication is rather hard on the humans you speak through.”
A slight pause. I glanced back at the techs monitoring Zagorin’s biological functions, read no alarm or danger in their faces. Apparently the medical pre-treatment was successfully warding off the more extreme side effects of the contact. “We mean no harm,” Zagorin whispered. “It is not possible … for us to change this.”
“Yes, we understand,” Eisenstadt assured the speaker. “It may be possible for us to do something from this end—we’re still experimenting with it.” He paused, and I felt him brace himself. “We appreciate your generosity in letting us examine one of your dead. We’ve learned a great deal from our work; however, there are still some questions we’ve been unable to answer. Several weeks ago, for instance, you used a heat weapon—we think probably it was a chemically-pumped laser—against a human that you thought was about to attack you. We’re very interested in the commercial and industrial possibilities of such a device, but we’ve been unable to identify either the mechanism or the biochemistry from the drone we studied. If you could enlighten us—even give us a clue as to where the source is located—we would be most grateful.”
Zagorin gazed at him with those flat eyes, but remained silent. “Even a second demonstration would help,” Eisenstadt tried again, uncertainty and uneasiness creeping into his sense. “Under controlled conditions, of course, with recording instruments in place—”
“The Cloud,” Zagorin cut him off. “You seek the origi … nation of the Cloud, do … you not?”
Eisenstadt threw a slightly startled glance at me. “Well … yes, of course we do. We’ve, uh, been speculating that it was your people who’ve been guiding our ships through the Cloud all these years—”
“We will take you to the … origination of … the Cloud.”
Eisenstadt stared at Zagorin, and it took him two tries to get any words out. “You mean … the mechanism that generates the Cloud? Where is it, on Spall?”
“In space,” Zagorin whispered. “Deep in space.”
Eisenstadt nodded slowly, his sense that of a man who has seen the answer to a long-time puzzle. “I understand. We’ll need some time to get a ship ready. Can we communicate like this with you off of Spall?”
“There is no need. When you are ready, speak … to the pilot. To—” Zagorin hesitated, and I could sense the thunderhead searching his host for the right word. “To the zombi.”
“All right,” Eisenstadt said, forehead furrowed slightly. “We’ll get started on the preparations. In the meantime—”
“Farewell until then,” Zagorin said.
“Wait!” Eisenstadt barked; but it was too late. Zagorin slumped over, her face and eyes returning to normal.
Eisenstadt took a step toward her, fury in his eyes. “Who told you to break contact?” he snarled.
Zagorin blinked up at him; but Calandra spoke up before she could reply. “It wasn’t her doing, Doctor,” she told him. “The thunderhead left her of his own volition.”
Eisenstadt glared at her, and I could see him fighting to choke down his anger. “I wasn’t through asking questions yet,” he bit out, to no one in particular. “Couldn’t he see that?”
“Perhaps he could,” I said. “Perhaps he was through giving answers.”
Eisenstadt paused in mid-sentence, swinging around to focus on me … and as I watched, the scientist within him gave way once again to the official representative of the Patri, with all the political and military considerations that role included. It was something of a shock; I hadn’t really appreciated how different the man had been without those encumbrances.
“I see,” Eisenstadt said at last. His voice, too, had subtly changed. “Sounds like they don’t really want to discuss their organic laser, doesn’t it?”
“Or else,” I offered, “they consider whatever it is about the Cloud to be far more urgent.”
Eisenstadt looked sharply at me, and I could tell he was remembering back to that Process of Elimination game with Zagorin three weeks earlier. “You could be right,” he admitted grudgingly, and I could see him thinking about how much trouble it would be to organize a trip out into space to actually take a look. There was a long moment of indecision; and then his face cleared. “Lieutenant?” he called, turning to look for the Pravilo officer in charge.
The other stepped forward from the monitor area. “Yes, sir?”
“I want you to contact Commodore Freitag for me. Find out how soon we can have one of his destroyers ready for a short trip.”
The lieutenant nodded and turned back to one of the consoles. Eisenstadt looked over at Zagorin, currently the focus of attention of a half dozen medical people. “How do you feel, Ms. Zagorin?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “Much better than the last time.”
Eisenstadt nodded, caught one of the physicians’ eyes. “I want you to do an extrapolation of her physical condition,” he told the other. “I’m interested particularly on how long she could have stayed under without harm.”
The other nodded and returned to his examination. “You’re planning to take her along with you?” I asked quietly.
Eisenstadt nodded. “It might be useful to find out just how far away from Spall we can get before we can’t raise them anymore.”
“But if the thunderheads are guiding us through the Cloud—”
“We have no evidence of that,” Eisenstadt reminded me. “Not even an unsupported statement by the thunderheads. All of that is pure speculation on our part, and pure speculation always makes me nervous.”
I looked at him, read the sense of uneasiness there … “Because if it’s not the thunderheads guiding us through the Cloud, it’s someone else?”
He threw me a patient look. “Come on, Benedar—surely it’s obvious there are at least two intelligences working at cross-purposes here. Or do you want to try and tell me that the thunderheads built the Cloud as a defense or something and then couldn’t remember how to turn it off?”
I thought about that. “It doesn’t have to be that monochrome, though, does it?” I suggested hesitantly. “Couldn’t it just as well be that they don’t mind us mining the rings but want to limit how many of us live next door to them on Solitaire?”
“Or even be the reverse,” Calandra added. “That they don’t mind us living on Solitaire but want to limit our plundering of the ring minerals.”
“For all the good the rings do them,” Eisenstadt growled. “They’re hardly in a position to do any mining themselves. Unfortunately, neither of those theories will hold air. If that’s all they wanted, all they needed to do was to make a treaty with us covering population size and mining rights and then shut off the Cloud.”
“What if we reneged?” I asked.
“They turn the Cloud back on, of course—trapping, incidentally, everyone who was in the system at the time. With that kind of threat hanging over us, they’d hardly have to worry about treaty violations.”
“Before the Halo of God came along, maybe there wasn’t any way for them to talk to us,” I reminded him.
“The way’s there now,” he countered. “And they haven’t mentioned anything along those lines. No, either the thunderheads are the ones guiding our ships and aren’t responsible
for the Cloud, or else they’re running the Cloud and someone else is bringing our ships in. It doesn’t make sense any other way.”
I bit at the back of my lip. He was right—the logic of it was indeed hard to argue against. And yet …
“You don’t seem convinced, Benedar.”
I focused on him. His expression was gruff, tolerant, as befit a scientist who didn’t officially give much credit to my Watcher skills … but beneath that official veneer I could sense a genuine interest. “There’s something else about the thunderheads,” I said, trying without success to pin down the elusive feeling nagging at my back-brain. “Something that bothers me.”
“You think they’re lying to us about something?”
I looked at Calandra, saw her equally helpless shrug. She didn’t have it, either; but like me, she recognized there was something here we weren’t getting. “No, I don’t think they’re lying. Not … exactly.”
It was a sloppy enough statement, and I fully expected to get a scornful glare for it. But Eisenstadt merely rubbed his cheek, his sense thoughtful. “Could it be that this invitation out to the Cloud is some kind of a trap?” he suggested.
“I can’t see what they could hope to gain,” I shook my head. “They must know that information about them has long since left the system. It’s far too late to try and keep their existence secret, even if that was what they wanted.”
Calandra stirred. “I don’t think it’s a trap,” she said slowly. “But Gilead’s right—they are hiding something. I get a sense of manipulation, as if they’re deliberately feeding us just enough information to keep us moving in the direction they want.”
“You think they’re going to take us to the Cloud generator and then ask us to shut it off?” Eisenstadt asked bluntly.
She looked at him steadily. “I’d be very careful about doing anything like that,” she told him. “If you’re right about them not being responsible for the Cloud, then it could only have been put there by someone else for the purpose of isolating them.”
Eisenstadt nodded grimly. “That thought has already occurred to me,” he acknowledged. “Which is why I want to take a Pravilo warship instead of just requisitioning some freighter. The generator may be defended.”
Across the way, the Pravilo lieutenant straightened from his board. “Dr. Eisenstadt?” he called. “All set. Commodore Freitag has ordered the Kharg to return from ring patrol duty; ETA approximately six days.” He hesitated. “However … the commodore asks me to remind you that none of the Pravilo ships in Solitaire system is equipped with a Deadman Switch.”
For a second Eisenstadt just stared at him. Then he swore under his breath. “Chern-fire!—I forgot all about that.”
I glanced at Calandra, read my own puzzlement there. “I don’t understand,” I said to Eisenstadt. “It can’t be that hard to install a Deadman Switch.”
“The hardware’s not the problem,” he growled. “It’s the fact that the Pravilo doesn’t have a general license for Solitaire transport. Trips in and out of the system are authorized on an individual basis by the Patri. And for that authorization you have to go all the way to Portslava.”
“It’s not quite that bad, sir,” the lieutenant spoke up. “The judiciaries on Miland or Whitecliff can also grant authorization.”
“All that means is that you apply to them and they send the request on to Portslava,” Eisenstadt shook his head. “Could take weeks—not to mention the paperwork involved in getting the actual zombi.”
I looked at Calandra, feeling my stomach muscles tightening. Except that there was a zombi already on hand, if Eisenstadt ever happened to remember that … “Surely there are emergency procedures available,” I said.
“I doubt this could be made to qualify,” Eisenstadt snorted.
“Well …” I hesitated. “The last I knew, Governor Rybakov owed Mr. Kelsey-Ramos a rather large personal favor. You might talk to him, see if he can wheedle a zombi for you from among Solitaire’s own death-sentence criminals.”
He looked at me; and from the way his eyes carefully avoided Calandra I could tell that he, too, had suddenly remembered her status. I held my breath … but practically before the idea was fully formed it was smothered by a strong sense of rejection. Like Randon, it seemed, he had quickly learned what an asset Watchers were, and he had no intention of throwing that asset away. “I was under the impression Solitaire law forbade that,” he said. “Worth a try, though. Anyway—” He glanced at Zagorin. “I’d like you two to accompany Ms. Zagorin back to her quarters when they’re through with her.”
His voice and sense were heavy with significance. “Yes, sir,” I said, trying to convey my understanding of his order without being too obvious about it. If the thunderheads had done anything to her, a couple of hours with her should bring it to light.
“Good,” Eisenstadt nodded. “I’ll let you know what happens with the governor.” Nodding to Calandra and Zagorin, he turned and set off toward the gap in the buttes where the cars were parked.
I watched him go; felt Calandra’s presence as she stepped to my side. “He wants the Cloud turned off,” she murmured.
I nodded. “I know.”
She shivered suddenly. “I hope we’re not all going at this too quickly. That we aren’t about to undo something that … shouldn’t be undone.”
I chewed at the back of my lip. “I don’t think he’ll do anything rash. Besides … there’s still something about this that doesn’t work. Why would anyone go to all the trouble of creating a ten-light-year barrier when all it does is lock in creatures who are rooted to the ground?”
Calandra shook her head. “I don’t know. But I still don’t like it.”
I put my arm around her, felt the tension in her muscles. “I know,” I said quietly. “Neither do I.”
Chapter 26
IT WAS LATE EVENING, and I was in my quarters—somehow, I thought of them as quarters now, instead of as a prison cell—when a pair of Pravilos came to take me to Eisenstadt’s office. One look at his face was all I needed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, stomach tightening.
In answer he waved me to a seat and swiveled his phone display around so that I could see it. Randon’s face was on the screen … and he, too, looked worried. “Why don’t you repeat what you just told me, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos,” Eisenstadt invited sourly as I sat down.
“Benedar,” Randon nodded to me from the display, his eyes briefly searching my face. “How are they treating you?”
“I’m fine, sir,” I said. “What’s the problem?”
His mouth twisted briefly. “I’ve just been in contact with Governor Rybakov,” he said.
It was obvious what was coming next. “I take it she won’t suspend the no-zombi law for us.”
“It’s worse than that,” he said grimly, holding up a cyl. “I have here a copy of a petition that was filed with the governor’s office two days ago. It reminds Rybakov that the duly mandated sentence of death passed against Calandra Paquin has been unlawfully suspended … and it requests that said sentence be carried out without further delay.”
I stared at him. “Aikman?” I asked between stiff lips.
“Who else?” Randon growled. “What’s worse, Rybakov really has no choice but to give the request proper consideration … and she tells me privately that he does have a case.”
“How?” I demanded. “Calandra’s been co-opted by a representative of the Patri for official purposes.”
Eisenstadt cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, Benedar, my authority doesn’t actually extend that far. It was only through Mr. Kelsey-Ramos’s generosity that she’s here on Spall at all, and he could legally call her back to the Bellwether at any time.”
I stared at the display, the thudding of my heart like the distant sound of crumbling hope. My belief in Calandra’s innocence—my efforts to buy her enough time for a new hearing—all of it threatened by a legal trick. But he said, Alas for you lawyers as well, because you load on people burdens that are
unendurable, burdens that you yourselves do not touch with your fingertips … Clenching my teeth, I forced my mind to unfreeze. “All right,” I said slowly. “But since Calandra was assigned to the Bellwether, shouldn’t that mean that her sentence can only be carried out aboard the Bellwether?”
“And since the Bellwether’s been temporarily grounded for security reasons,” Randon finished for me, in a voice that told me they’d already thought of this, “the sentence ought to be temporarily grounded, too. It’s a nice idea; the problem is that her actual assignment is to HTI Transport, not to the Bellwether. It happens that there are two other HTI freighters inbound in Solitaire system at the moment, either of which could be used to carry out her sentence.”
“Except that they both have zombis of their own—” I stopped short as a horrible thought struck me.
“Of course they do,” Randon said, frowning at my tone. “But since their zombis’ sentences are presumably dated after Paquin’s, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to switch zombis between one of them and the Bellwether.”
Aikman’s face flashed through my mind: his face, his hate-filled and vengeful soul, his devious mind … and I suddenly knew what it was he was trying to do. “They won’t be giving you anything in exchange,” I said, my stomach knotting even tighter. “If the governor accepts that petition, they’ll take Calandra and leave you stranded here.”
“What are you talking about?” Eisenstadt demanded. “They have a zombi of their own—”
“Who will already be dead or dying when the Bellwether gets him.”
They both stared at me … and slowly, the understanding came. “You mean … they’d deliberately kill one of their zombis?” Eisenstadt asked, a look of horrified astonishment on his face.
“He may even be already dead.” I looked at Randon, all my instincts screaming with the need for immediate action. “Have any of the HTI board been in contact with those freighters?”
“I can probably find out.” Randon’s own disbelief had vanished, replaced by an angry determination. “Cute—very cute. A blazing lot of trouble and risk to go to, but I wouldn’t put it past that gang of vultures.”