Free Deadman Switch by Timothy Zahn Page A

were all striving against. The Solitaran environment was supposed to be one of the most benign in the colonies.
    â€œPerhaps it’s the Cloud,” Calandra murmured.
    I looked at her, both startled and chagrined that she’d once again read my line of thought so easily. “The Cloud’s not supposed to affect people,” I reminded her.
    â€œUnless they’re already dead?” she retorted grimly.
    I swallowed, the sharp-acrid reminder of what she was facing curling my stomach. “Point, I suppose. But a lot of researchers have studied the Cloud, and none of them has ever mentioned any effect on the living.”
    â€œHow long have any of them been in it?” she countered. “Some of these people have probably lived here all their lives. Even then, you can see how subtle it is. Would the average researcher even notice it?”
    â€œUnlikely,” I admitted. It would almost certainly take a Watcher to see it … and according to Randon, we were the first Watchers to come here.
    A slight movement across the car caught the corner of my attention, and I looked over to see Randon eying me in obvious question. “There’s a tension overhanging this place, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos,” I explained. “A feeling that the people living here aren’t really comfortable with their world.”
    I could tell by the slight cringing in Calandra’s sense that she half expected Randon to ridicule either our assessment or us or both. But he just sat there, occasionally turning to gaze thoughtfully out the window, as I tried to put into words what it was she and I had felt.
    â€œSo you think it’s a side effect of the Cloud?” he asked when I’d finished.
    â€œOr else the paranoia of knowing that their whole existence rests on human sacrifice—” I broke off at the strained patience in Randon’s eye. “Or it could be something entirely different,” I added. “At the moment all we know is that the tension’s there.”
    He nodded absently, gazing out the window again. “Any idea,” he asked slowly, “how long a person would have to be here for this tension to manifest itself? A year? More? Less?”
    â€œNo idea,” I shook my head. “You’re wondering if that could be part of Aikman’s trouble?”
    Randon turned to Schock. “How long has Aikman been on Solitaire?”
    Schock had his computer out; seated to Randon’s other side, Kutzko was fingering the controls of his visorcomp. “Three years,” Schock reported. “Station Chief Li, on the other hand, has been here for—bozhe moi!—for eighteen years, ever since HTI got the place going. Assistant Managers Blake and Karash twelve and four, respectively.”
    Randon nodded. “Yes, I remember those numbers,” he said absently. Already, I could see, he was calculating how he might use this insight into Solitaire’s planetary ethos to his advantage. The sense of him had altered subtly from the evening before, and I could tell he was rethinking his earlier conclusion that having a Watcher around was merely a crutch. And if he could think that about one Watcher …
    I felt Calandra’s presence at my side. She is far beyond the price of rubies … I could only hope Randon would come to see that, too.
    Behind his visorcomp, I could see Kutzko’s eyes still moving slightly as he read, and I knew what records he was checking. Tense security guards had a tendency to make their opposite numbers equally nervous. “Well?” I asked him.
    â€œShouldn’t be a problem,” he said. He didn’t elaborate.
    Like most of the rest of Solitaire, Cameo was built relatively flat, with the tallest buildings being only three stories high. The psychology of corporations regarding height and power being what it was, I wasn’t surprised that HTI’s headquarters was one of the latter, though I wondered on the