Deadman Switch by Timothy Zahn Page B

glanced away at the guard booth arrangement, noting the particular placement and positioning of it— “Not afraid of attack so much as he is of surveillance?”
    Kutzko grinned wryly. “Straight set bull’s eye. Yeah, we found a couple of tricky little bugs in our suites back on Whitecliff, as well as a very cute one built into the records cyl we got from Aikman.”
    â€œYou think Aikman planted them?”
    â€œDo you?” he countered.
    I thought back, remembering the sense of Aikman at that first meeting. “No.”
    Kutzko nodded agreement. “I didn’t think so, either. Aikman’s too blazing visible to risk pulling something that underhanded himself. It was probably some faceless assistant hoping to make points. So. How about the official reason?”
    I changed gears back to the contest with some effort. “No idea. I suppose Mr. Kelsey-Ramos just claimed none of the hotels here were up to his standards.”
    Off to the side, Duge Ifversn snickered gently. Kutzko glanced at him, looked back at me. “Two for two,” he conceded. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take a crack at guessing what we all had for breakfast?”
    â€œYou’ll excuse me if I find something more useful to do with my time,” I said dryly. Still, I did feel better. “Thanks, Mikha.”
    He understood. “No charge. Don’t forget Mr. Kelsey-Ramos wants to see you.”
    â€œI’m on my way. See you later.”
    I made my way back through the Bellwether’s corridors, simultaneously hoping I wouldn’t be so late that Randon would be angry but still be late enough that Aikman would already be gone.
    I was halfway lucky.
    â€œAbout time,” Randon growled as I buzzed and was admitted into his stateroom. “Where have you been?”
    â€œCameo,” I told him. I nodded at Aikman with all the courtesy I could muster. He merely stared at me in return, not acknowledging the gesture. “I told Captain Bartholomy where I was going,” I added.
    A flicker of annoyance touched Randon, but it was more annoyance at himself than at me. If Lord Kelsey-Ramos had instilled a single quality in his son, it was that of taking internal responsibility for both his actions and his oversights. “I see. Well, no matter.” He turned back to his computer—
    â€œWhat were you doing in Cameo?” Aikman asked shortly, vague suspicion radiating from him.
    â€œBusiness,” I said, deliberately vague.
    â€œMore a mercy trip, actually,” Randon put in, looking up and favoring Aikman with a thoughtful gaze. “Benedar thinks our outzombi may have been framed for her crimes.”
    If Randon had hoped for a sharper reaction from Aikman, he was disappointed. Aikman’s lip twisted, his sense that of a man whose worst expectations had been realized. “Because she says she was?” he asked pointedly, turning a cynical glare on me. “Or simply because Watchers aren’t supposed to do naughty things like murder?”
    I started to reply, but Randon beat me to it. “You knew she claimed to be innocent, then?”
    â€œWell, yes,” Aikman said, some of his truculence fading before the unexpected iciness of Randon’s reaction. “But so what? Convicted felons are always claiming that—what else can they do? If the Outbound judiciary thought she was guilty, I’m willing to take their word for it.”
    â€œYes, well, we may be able to do a bit better than that.” Randon shifted his attention to me. “What did you find out?”
    I gritted my teeth, still feeling an echo of shame at my failure. “They won’t help us.”
    He frowned. “Why not?”
    â€œSome local law, apparently—”
    â€œLocal law, indeed,” Aikman snorted. “‘No Solitaran citizen, regardless of crime or levied punishment, will be removed from the jurisdiction of Solitaire system