Deadman Switch by Timothy Zahn Page B

the verge of considering it myself.
    And my knees began to shake.

Chapter 8
    T HE BRIGHTER OF THE stars in Solitaire’s sky were beginning to appear through the dusk overhead as we pulled up to Governor Rybakov’s mansion, an imposing edifice that gave out a sense of dignified power that reminded me of the HTI conference room. From the mansion’s double-wing design, I guessed it followed the typical Patri pattern for such places, including both office and entertainment facilities as well as living space for the governor. The windows of the ground floor to our left were ablaze with light, and through the half-tinting I could see the shadows of milling people.
    â€œNice place,” Randon grunted as the five of us filed out of the car. “Be interesting to have Schock run the budget sometime and find out just what percentage of Solitaire’s income goes to their officials.”
    â€œThey’ve got money to spare,” I murmured.
    He glanced at me. “I suppose they do,” he conceded.
    Randon and Kutzko in the lead, we climbed the flaystone steps to the main portico. “Mr. Randon Kelsey-Ramos and party,” Kutzko told the liveried guards flanking the door. Stepping smoothly in front of Randon, he started to enter—
    â€œJust a moment, sir,” one of the guards spoke up. “Is the lady in your party Ms. Calandra Mara Paquin?”
    Beside me, Calandra tensed. Randon turned his head leisurely to look at us, turned just as leisurely back again. “Yes, I believe it is,” he acknowledged coolly. “Why?”
    â€œI regret to say, sir, that I can’t allow her to enter.” There was no regret anywhere in the guard’s sense that I could detect. “Governor Rybakov’s orders.”
    â€œOn what grounds?” Randon asked.
    â€œOn the grounds that she is a convicted felon, sentenced to death, sir,” he said stiffly, distaste at both her legal status and her Watcher background coming through his official decorum. “The governor does not wish to have such a potential danger within her house.”
    There really wasn’t any hope of appeal, and Randon knew it as well as the rest of us. But he was too pridefully stubborn to give up quite that easily. “She was assigned to my ship,” he told the guard. “Placed therefore under both my care and my legal jurisdiction. I’ll take full responsibility for her actions and behavior here.”
    â€œI understand, sir. I still can’t allow her to enter.”
    Randon locked eyes with the man for a long moment, then turned slowly back to us and nodded to Duge Ifversn, behind me in rearguard position. “Ifversn, escort her back to the ship,” he instructed the other. For a moment his eyes met mine, and I could sense him bracing for an argument. But there was no point to it, and I remained silent. “Turn her over to Seqoya and then come back.”
    Ifversn nodded. “Ms. Paquin … ?”
    Calandra turned away, not looking at me, and went with him. I watched them get back into the car, then looked back to find Randon’s eyes still on me … his eyes, and an almost grudging touch of sympathy. I took a deep breath and nodded to him. Turning, he strode without a word between the guards and into the mansion.
    Inside, we found ourselves in a high-arched hallway stretching probably half the length of the building itself. A greeter waiting just inside welcomed us to the governor’s home and directed us to an open pair of double doors down the hall, while a second pair of guards relieved Kutzko of his puff adder needler clips and gave him a single clip of slapshots in return. It was standard security practice—guards usually preferred visiting shields to carry only nonlethal ammunition—and Kutzko surrendered to it with professional good grace.
    The buzz of conversation was audible well into the hall … and as we reached the double doors it became