“Spare me the history lesson, if you please,” Chi said stiffly. “The problem is that there’s no way an evolutionary process could have come up with this sort of thing.”
“Then forget evolution,” I said, suddenly tired of swimming upstream against this man. “Surely somewhere in the Patri and colonies there are more sensitive instruments available—”
“Or in other words,” Chi cut me off, “you want the Patri to make a nova-class fuss over this, simply on the strength of a Watcher’s word. Let me explain something, Benedar: I have a reputation and a career, and chasing ghosts is not how I got them. If we find some evidence—hard evidence, I mean—in the next couple of days, then we’ll see.”
“And if you don’t?” Randon asked.
“Then we pack up and go back to Solitaire.” Chi’s lip twitched knowingly. “And you’ll have to make some other kind of deal to get your Watcher back.”
Beside me, Kutzko stirred. “Hard evidence, huh?” he asked.
We all looked at him … and again I shivered. He was preparing for action … “Mikha—”
He turned hard eyes on me, and I shut up. “Your permission, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos?” he asked.
Randon frowned, but nodded. “Go ahead.”
Kutzko nodded back and turned to the Pravilo officer still standing nearby. “Sir, I’ll need my needler. Please signal your men not to react.”
The other eyed him thoughtfully, gave a brisk nod. “Guards!—clear weapon!” he shouted.
“Thank you.” Carefully, Kutzko eased his needler from its holster, keeping it pointed at the ground. “Dr. Chi, would you say that the smarter something is, the faster it ought to learn?”
Chi licked his lips nervously. He had no idea where Kutzko was headed with this, but already he didn’t like it. “I suppose it would be a fairly accurate generalization.”
“Fine.” Kutzko looked at me. “Which ones are the most awake, Gilead?”
I swallowed. “Pretty much all of them, except the ones being monitored.”
“That one, for instance?” he asked, raising his needler to point it at a nearby thunderhead.
I studied it a moment. “Yes,” I acknowledged.
“No change right now?”
“No.”
“Fine.” He lowered the weapon again and took a quiet preparing breath. “Keep watching it. See if it learns that a needler is something to be afraid of.”
He took a few steps toward the thunderhead. Beside me, Chi and Randon were both watching him unblinkingly; from the tight silence in the hollow, I could tell everyone else was doing the same. Lifting his needler, Kutzko aimed at the far bluff and fired twice.
The shots shattered the silence, their ringing echoes almost covering the faint insect-whine of the needles ricocheting harmlessly off the distant rock. The silence returned … and Kutzko lowered his aim deliberately to the thunderhead he’d indicated—
An icy hand grabbed my heart. “Stop!” I shouted. “Don’t shoot!”
The gun didn’t move. “I’m not going to,” he frowned. “Did it leave?”
I took a deep breath. “Yes, it did,” I told him. “Please—lower the gun.”
He held the pose another moment, then returned the needler to its holster and started back toward us. “What’s wrong?” Randon murmured at my ear.
I shook my head, my brain scrambling to sort out the sensations that had jolted me into shouting my warning. “I don’t know, exactly. I felt a sudden surge of emotion from the entire city, directed at Kutzko. And there was a … it was like a flicker of light, only too short to really see.”
“A flicker of light you couldn’t really see, huh?” Chi said dryly. “Well, that makes sense.”
My stomach knotted with frustration. Peripherally, I noted that the threatened thunderhead had now returned to full consciousness. “The flash was there,” I insisted.
Kutzko reached us and stopped. “Well, Doctor?” he asked coolly. “That convince you?”
Chi grimaced. “Not especially. I’m sorry, but again all we’ve got here is one man’s impressions, without a shred of hard evidence anywhere—”
And a hunch clicked. “Mikha, give me your needler,” I cut Chi off.
Kutzko’s forehead furrowed slightly. “Sir?” he asked the Pravilo officer.
The other nodded. “Go ahead.”
Drawing the gun from its holster, Kutzko offered me the grip. I took it and, gingerly, looked down the muzzle.
A centimeter down the barrel, a spiderweb had appeared, blocking the opening. A spiderweb composed of a dozen ultrathin filaments of metal …
Wordlessly, I handed the weapon to Randon. He looked … raised his eyes back to mine. “It’s blocked,” he said, his voice hollow as he offered it to Chi. “Like it’d been … spot welded or something.”
I nodded, feeling cold all over. “They thought Mikha was going to start shooting at them. This was their way of stopping him.”
Chi looked up from the gun, a haunted look in his eyes. “But it wouldn’t really have blocked the shot. Would it?”
Kutzko took the needler back, and his face hardened as he gazed in at the metal spiderweb. “Probably not,” he said. “Does it blazing-well matter?”
Chi took a ragged breath, his gaze drifting almost unwillingly to the thunderheads. To the thunderheads; who in the space of a few seconds had observed, evaluated, and taken precise action … “No,” he told Kutzko with a shiver. “I don’t suppose it matters at all.”
Chapter 21
I WAS RETURNED TO Solitaire and placed under what seemed to be a form of house arrest aboard the Bellwether … and for the next six weeks nothing happened.
Or at least, nothing that I expected to happen did so. No one came to charge me with any crimes, or to take me before the judiciary or even to a more official prison; the Bellwether made no attempt to leave the planet, let alone the system; and from what I could gather from my limited information sources, there was no reaction at all from the general Solitaran populace over the news that an alien intelligence had just been discovered on their sister world.
All of which implied that, even as courier ships were undoubtedly burning their way through Mjollnir space to bring the news to the Patri hierarchy, somewhere the decision had been made to keep the discovery secret. A bad idea, I thought, for several different reasons. But no one was asking my opinion.
I didn’t see Calandra at all during that time. From the face and body language of the guards who brought me my meals I gathered that she too was back aboard, though no one would verbally confirm that. They also wouldn’t tell me what, if anything, was happening with her case, and I spent many of the long hours replaying all that had happened and brooding about whether my fumbling attempts had made things any better for her. There was no way to know, and I could only console myself with the knowledge that I certainly hadn’t made them any worse.
And finally, six weeks to the day after my imprisonment began, they came to get me.
We landed near the Butte City encampment where I’d first awakened from my pravdrug interrogation, an encampment that had changed drastically in the time I’d been locked up on Solitaire. The ship that had been at its center was still there, but the handful of soft-wall structures had been replaced by ten gleaming prebuilt sectional buildings, including what looked like a clean-room lab and two military-style barracks. The whole area had been cordoned off by a sensor fence, a fence that also enclosed our landing area and stretched out to define a wide corridor to the buttes. From my angle I couldn’t tell if the buttes themselves had been fenced off, but I rather thought they had.
I was taken into the lab, and to a large office/workroom already starting to show signs of cluttering … and there I met the new head of the thunderhead project.
That he was the head was instantly clear. His manner, his bearing, the subtle exchange of body language between him and my guards—all of it pointed to absolute authority, and to a man accustomed to wearing it. From the way he loo
ked at me—the thoughtful, probing way he sized me up as I walked with my Pravilo escort from the doorway to his desk—it was similarly clear that he was a man of science and not simply some Patri official or bureaucrat.
Just as it was clear that he didn’t especially like me.
“Gilead Benedar, sir,” the head of my escort identified me. “Brought here as per your instructions.”
The scientist’s eyes flicked to him. “Thank you, Captain. You and the others may go.”
The other nodded and signaled to his men, and the scientist and I were left alone.
For a long moment he continued to study me, giving me a vague feeling of being under a microscope. “So you’re a Watcher,” he said at last. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”
I looked at his face, read the lie there. “That surprises me, sir,” I told him evenly. Another flicker— “Especially since you’ve read all the information the Patri has on Watchers in general and on me in particular.”
His reaction was mild surprise, open and obvious enough to practically light up the room. More confirmation, if I’d needed it, that he’d spent his life in science, insulated from the darker political and business worlds where a man usually learned to shield his thoughts and emotions more carefully.
But the surprise disappeared quickly, replaced by a strong and probably habitual skepticism. “Easy guess,” he grunted. “Of course I would have learned all I could before deciding to send for you.”
Another lie … “Perhaps,” I nodded. “Except that it wasn’t really your idea to send for me. You don’t like me, you didn’t want me here, and you’d very much like an excuse to toss me back off Spall and be done with it.”
His face turned to stone, whatever traces of patronizing amusement he’d been feeling vanishing like smoke. “I see,” he said through stiff lips. “Oh—please continue, since you know so much. If I don’t want you, why are you here?”
“Because you need my help,” I told him. “Because something about the thunderheads has you stymied, and you’ve been reduced to grasping at straws.”
He gazed steadily at me. “Do you know who I am?”
I shook my head. “My experience lately has mostly been in business and—”
“I’m Dr. Vlad Eisenstadt.”
I swallowed. It was a name even people preoccupied with business had heard of. A true Renaissance man of science, he was said to be equally proficient in biology, chemistry, cybernetics, and neuropsychology. In retrospect, I suppose, it was obvious that the Patri would have picked someone like him for this job. “I see, sir,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m a scientist, Benedar,” he continued. “I deal with the objective world, and I distrust anything that is by nature subjective. Near the top of that list are mind-reading stunts and religions of all sorts.”
“You sound like Dr. Chi,” I murmured.
His sense took on a distinctly sour tinge. “Perhaps. It was he who recommended we call you in.”
I blinked. “That’s … very interesting, sir.”
Something like a breath of relief touched his sense. Relief, and—paradoxically—a touch of disappointment, as well. “So you can’t really read minds,” he said, almost as if to himself.
“No, sir,” I shook my head. “I would think the Patri files on the Watchers would have made that clear.”
His lips tightened, and I could see he was trying to decide whether to terminate the interview right here and now. “If it helps, Dr. Eisenstadt,” I offered, “I was able to sense what seemed to be emotional changes in the thunderheads the last time.”
He nodded, not particularly impressed. “That much our sensors can do,” he told me. “What we need—” He hesitated. “What we want is some way to determine when one of them is dead.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“What’s the matter?—isn’t the question clear enough?” he growled. “I want to know if there’s a way to distinguish between a thunderhead that’s dead and one that’s just out … visiting.”
I looked at him, listening to the way that last word echoed through my mind. “This bothers you, doesn’t it?” I asked him quietly. “The idea that there could be something in us that exists independently of the physical body—”
“If you want to talk religion, Benedar,” he cut me off harshly, “you can do it alone in a Solitaran prison cell. All I want from you is one answer, yes or no: can you find me a dead thunderhead?” He glared at me. “And if the answer is no, then we’ll just have to go out and choose one at random to dissect.”
I stared at him, throat tightening as understanding belatedly poured in on me. Man of God, he said, may my life and the lives of these fifty servants of yours count for something in your eyes … “What if you guess wrong?” I asked, striving for calmness. “What if you kill one of them?”
“What if we do?” he countered.
I took a deep breath, searching for some sort of non-religious answer to give him … and in that pausing, the emotion cleared somewhat from my vision, and I saw that the answer I sought was already there, buried in Eisenstadt’s own expression. “If you do,” I told him evenly, “what happened to Mikha Kutzko’s needler could happen again. To your people.”
His mouth twisted derisively; but it was a habitual derision, devoid of any strength. The attempt to block the muzzle of Kutzko’s needler was abundant proof that the thunderheads had both the intelligence and the means to defend themselves, and Eisenstadt knew it. “There are ways to safeguard against that,” he said anyway, clearly determined not to admit even rational fears in front of me. “But if it turns out that these things are more intelligent than, say, dogs or horses, it might strain future relations if we began by killing one.”
His sense held very little doubt that such an intelligence level did in fact exist, but I passed over the chance to call him on yet another half-truth. “I understand,” I told him, “and I’ll do what I can. But I’ll need Calandra’s help.”
Again, his mouth twisted. “Yes, I rather expected you’d ask for her—your crusade to save her from the Deadman Switch borders on the obsessive. Give me one good reason why I should let her get any more involved with this matter than she already is.”
“Because two of us together will have a better chance of finding what you want than either of us singly,” I told him simply. “And because it’s in your best interests and those of the Patri to make the chances of failure as small as possible.”
He snorted. “By that logic, I should invite a whole colony of Watchers here.”
I shrugged. “I agree.”
He glared at me, a token attempt at intimidation as he pretended to be weighing my words. In actual fact, I could tell he’d already decided that Calandra’s presence was something he could tolerate. Especially given the potentially disastrous consequences if he didn’t. “All right,” he growled at last, shoving his chair back and standing up. “Let’s go collect your friend and get out to the test area. Just remember that she’ll be right up there with you when we start cutting … and if you choose wrong, you two will be among the first the thunderheads will fry.”
And if that happened, the Bellwether would have to choose from one of its own to man the Deadman Switch on its journey out … “Yes, sir,” I said, my lips dry. “I understand.”
We didn’t go ourselves to wherever Calandra’s cell was—Eisenstadt changed his mind at the last minute and sent a pair of Pravilos for her instead while he and I proceeded along the fenced-off corridor to the Butte City. We were there, and I was studying and marveling at the elaborate sensor gear that had been attached to several of the thunderheads, when she was finally brought in.
I didn’t know where she’d been kept all this time, or under what conditions; but it was abundantly clear that she hadn’t been treated as politely as I had. Her face was pale and noticeably thinner, her movements as she got out of the car vaguely hesitant. I took a step toward her, paused as I saw the warning in her guards’ eyes, a
nd waited instead for them to come to us.
“You all right?” I asked her quietly, reaching forward as she approached to take her hand. The skin was cool, but was warming up even as I held it.
“As well as can be expected,” she said, her sense a mixture of irritation and tiredness and resignation. And in her eyes—
Abruptly, it clicked. “Pravdrugs?” I asked, turning my head to stare at Eisenstadt. “For the whole six weeks?”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Off and on during them, yes,” he said coolly. “We needed to know as much as we could about the thunderheads; and as you yourself implied, she was a somewhat better observer than you were.”
“And, of course, no one with the Carillon Group’s influence was watching to make sure no one abused her like that?” I bit out.
His forehead darkened with anger. “If I were you, Benedar, I wouldn’t push my luck too far. You’re out on a pretty warm ice bridge yourself, and the minute you stop being useful there’s likely to be a very fast thaw.”
I glared back at him; but before I could say anything Calandra squeezed my hand warningly. “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s right. And besides …” Her eyes drifted out over the sea of thunderheads, and I felt her hand stiffen. “Whatever’s going on here, it’s something we need to know about.”
I looked at her, back at Eisenstadt, and swallowed my anger. “Where do you want us to start?”
A flicker of relief touched Eisenstadt’s face. “Let’s try over here,” he said, the same relief evident in his voice. Clearly, Calandra and I weren’t nearly as expendable as he wanted us to believe. I filed the fact away for possible future reference and we followed him to the edge of the thunderhead city.
“We’ve found several places along their skin where we can pick up neuroelectric signals,” he said, squatting down beside one of the thunderheads and gingerly indicating places along its side and atop the curving crest. I noticed that he was careful not to actually touch the creature, wondered if perhaps the scientists had had a second demonstration of the thunderheads’ defensive capabilities. “We can detect well enough when the thing is … vacant … but so far every one we’ve found has come back within the decay limit.”