I gritted my teeth in irritation. Irritation, and the slightly galling knowledge that he was in fact right. “It still doesn’t seem fair,” I said, just for something to say.
“It’s not,” he agreed easily. “But since when do you care about fair?”
I blinked in surprise. “Since always.”
“Since never,” he retorted. “You don’t want fair, Gilead—you’ve never wanted it. Anyone can get fair—the Patri judiciary can usually manage that much.”
“Oh, really,” I said sarcastically. “Well, in that case, perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me what it is I do want.”
He shrugged. “You’re the religious one. You tell me what you’re supposed to be giving out.”
I glared at him again; but it was a glare without any power at all behind it. He had me, and we both knew it. “Compassion,” I muttered. “Mercy. Forgiveness.”
He spread his hands. “There we go,” he nodded. “Nothing like a little heathen argument to sharpen your focus.”
“Oh, thank you,” I growled. “Thank you very much.”
He grinned, then sobered. “You know, I think I’ve finally figured it out. Remember that stuff about being the salt of the earth?”
You are salt for the earth … “Yes,” I said.
“Well, you’re not salt—you aren’t, anyway. You’re more like a catalyst.”
I snorted. “‘You are catalysts for the earth.’ It loses a little in the translation.”
“No, I’m serious,” Kutzko insisted. “Sure, you got through this thing pretty clean; but look at all the people who wound up doing things for others along the way.” He held up gloved fingers, began ticking them off. “I mean, there was Adams; there were Lord Kelsey-Ramos and Eisenstadt; there’s the Halloas. Not to even mention what all this is going to do to the Deadman Switch.”
I stared at him. “What about the Deadman Switch?”
“I mean the Halloas taking over for the zombis, of course,” he snorted. “Or didn’t you think the Patri would notice that Adams did as well out there as any zombi could have?”
“They did notice it, and he didn’t do nearly well enough,” I retorted bitterly. It was one of my own secret hopes, too … or rather, it had been, before I’d seen the commission’s reaction to it. “The commission made it perfectly clear that no one’s going to be interested in hauling ten or fifteen people on runs into Solitaire when they can do it with two prisoners instead.”
“Yeah, but you’re assuming Adams’s forty-five-minute limit is all you can get,” Kutzko reminded me. “Don’t forget that he had some medical problems to begin with—and he didn’t have all that many contacts on his scorecard. You may not know it, but Zagorin’s already done two hours at a stretch without getting into trouble, and there’s no reason why that’s the end of the line, either.”
I sighed. “Except that the commission isn’t interested, no matter where the end of the line is. Replacing the Deadman Switch would mean putting Solitaire navigation—or at least the navigator training—into the hands of people they consider to be religious fanatics. They won’t accept that; I know, I saw their faces after my testimony.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but you didn’t see their faces after my testimony.”
I frowned. “And just what did you testify to?” I asked cautiously.
“Oh, nothing special,” he said, his sense all smug innocence. “I just made sure they got a description—a blazing good description—of how the thunderheads picked up Adams’s body and tried to attack you with it.”
And even as the memory sent a cold shiver up my back I saw that he was right. A zombi sitting peacefully and obediently at the Deadman Switch was one thing; a zombi moving about the bridge was something else entirely. A ghastly horror, straight out of mankind’s deepest and darkest fears. “Yes,” I agreed, taking a shuddering breath and trying to force the image away. “I can understand why that would … bother them.”
“Bother them?” He snorted. “Try terrified them out of their minds. By the time I was through they were falling all over each other getting study groups set up. It might take a year or two, but the Deadman Switch is finished—count on it.”
Death, where is your victory? “I guess it’s not a bad list, at that,” I murmured, almost reluctantly.
“Awfully generous of you,” Kutzko said dryly. “I’d say not a bad list covers it pretty well. Sort of gives you a different angle on things, doesn’t it?—unless, that is, you’re the type that’s stuck on being a candidate for martyr.”
Martyr. I listened to the sound of that word as it echoed through my mind. Martyr. A noble, honorable way to serve humanity … or a hypocritical and cowardly way to escape from that same service. Which motivation, I wondered, had been behind my willingness to give my life aboard the tug?
I still had no answer for that question … but now, I saw with sudden clarity that I didn’t, need to. Kutzko was right: my job was not to concentrate on the suffering or the sacrifices, but on my service to those around me.
And with Lord Kelsey-Ramos busy pulling strings with the Pravilo to keep me out of prison, it was pretty clear who those people would be. At least for now. “Martyr, huh?” I commented to Kutzko as I stood up. “Anyone ever tell you that tact isn’t your strong point?”
“Oh, all the time,” he admitted cheerfully, getting to his feet with me. “Why do you think I picked a job where I get to carry a weapon around? That was a pretty fast trip out of the doldrums, if I do say so myself.”
“It sure was,” I agreed. “You don’t make a bad catalyst yourself.”
“Don’t start that,” he said, mock-warningly. “I gave up religion a long time ago, remember?”
“Sure,” I said. And smiled to myself as, together, we headed down the ridge.
A Biography of Timothy Zahn
Timothy Zahn is a New York Times bestselling and award-winning science-fiction author of more than forty novels, as well as dozens of novellas and short stories. He is best known for his Star Wars novels, which have been widely credited with rejuvenating the Star Wars book franchise. Zahn is known for his engaging writing style, pithy dialogue, compelling plot lines, intricately detailed alien cultures, inventive alien technology, and the complex morality of his characters.
Born in 1951, in Chicago, Illinois, Zahn holds a bachelor’s degree in physics from Michigan State University and a master’s degree in physics from the University of Illinois. It was while working toward his PhD in the late 1970s that Zahn began focusing on writing science fiction. He sold his first story in 1978 and, two years later, began to write fulltime.
In 1984, Zahn won a Hugo Award for his short story “Cascade Point.”. That same year he also published Blackcollar, the first installment of his Blackcollar series. He launched the Cobra series two years later with Cobra (1985), and published the celebrated Thrawn trilogy, which gave the Star Wars narrative new life, throughout the 1990s. His YA Dragonback series, of which Dragon and Thief (2003) was named an ALA Best Book for Young Adults, includes six books published between 2003 and 2008.
Zahn is especially beloved among the Star Wars fan community for his contributions to the Star Wars books. His best-known Star Wars titles, the Thrawn trilogy, were voted onto NPR’s list of the top 100 science-fiction and fantasy books of all time.
Zahn lives in Oregon with his family.
Zahn’s school portrait from 1957, when he was six years old.
A yearbook photo of Zahn playing the cello in his high school orchestra in 1969.
Zahn’s high school senior class picture from 1969.
Zahn and his wife, Anna, on their wedding day in August 1979.
Zahn poses with his wife, Anna, and their son Corwin,1983.
Zahn takes the podium at the Hugo Award ceremonies, September 1984.
Zahn with his agent Russell Galen, September 1984.
Zahn with fellow authors David B. Coe and Jim Frenkel, March 2002.
Zahn with Dr. Les Johnson at the NASA
Advanced Propulsion Group, July 2003.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Excerpts from the New Jerusalem Bible © 1985 by Darton, Longman & Todd, Ltd., and Doubleday, a division of Bantam, Doubleday, Dell Publishing Group, Inc., reprinted by permission of the publisher.
copyright © 1988 by Timothy Zahn
cover design by Angela Goddard
978-1-4532-7204-6
This edition published in 2012 by Open Road Integrated Media
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Timothy Zahn, Deadman Switch
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