“That’s a debater’s trick, turning the question back on me. But it’s time to face the truth, Kim. We’re past our peak. This business here,” he glanced around, taking in the entire banquet room, “is sad. The interstellars are coming home. I don’t like it; it’s not good for business. But it’s the reality. We’re retreating to the Nine Worlds and the big ships are going into mothballs. I wouldn’t say this anywhere else, and if you repeat it I’ll deny it, but the dream you’re talking about was dead before you were born. It’s just that the corpse is still warm.”
“If you’re right,” said Kim, “we have no future. But I’m not ready to fold my cards yet.”
“Good for you.” There was a chill in his voice. “But you’re refusing to look at the facts. Greenway and the other worlds are settling in for the long haul. Nobody’s really going anywhere anymore. Life’s too good for most people. Stay home and party. Let the machines run everything. I’ll tell you what I think about Beacon: Somebody could answer tomorrow, and unless they threatened us, nobody would give a damn.”
She was drinking a strawberry miconda. It was simultaneously cold and heat-producing. Good stuff. “You think it’s a straight downhill run.”
“Last days of the Empire,” he said. “It’s a good time to be alive, except at the very end. If you’re a hedonist. As all men are.”
“Are you, Ben?”
He considered the question. “Not exclusively,” he said at last. His gaze bored into her. “No. You wouldn’t want to mistake me for a hedonist.”
During the course of the evening, she mingled with as many of the guests as she could. She invited everyone to come by the Institute, assured them of private tours, and promised to introduce them to the team that had put Beacon together. By two A.M., when she returned to her apartment weary and more than a little light-headed, she was satisfied that she’d done well by her employer.
But she’d spent six hours on arduous duty and wasn’t quite ready to sleep.
She got a cup of hot chocolate from the dispenser, changed into pajamas, looked through the library, and picked out The Queen Under Fire, an account of the liner’s service during the war against Pacifica. She read for about a half hour and then directed the room to turn out the lights.
They dimmed and went off. A female voice asked whether she wanted anything else.
Kim thought it over and gave her instructions.
She lay back, stared into the darkness, and thought about what Tripley had said. End of the Empire. Truth was, people had probably always been saying things like that. People always believe they live in a crumbling world.
The Star Queen’s flight deck materialized around her.
“Captain, we have company.” Cyrus Klein’s voice was steady.
The situation flashed onscreen. Eight blips moving toward them, intercept course, off the port quarter.
Kim settled into the command chair. “Can you identify them, Mr. Klein?”
“Just a moment, Captain.” His eyes narrowed as he waited for the returns to clear.
“Assume the worst,” she said. “Aheadfull. Collision stations. Shields up. Where’s our escort?”
8
Truth is like nudity: It is on occasion indispensable, but it is dangerous and should not be displayed openly. It is truth that gives life its grandeur, but the polite fictions that make it bearable.
In the morning Kim ate breakfast with Cole, thanked him for his hospitality, checked her bag through to Terminal City, and caught the shuttle to Sky Harbor.
Interstellar maintained its operations division in the lower hangars on the Plum Deck, so called because of the color of the walls. Kim showed up at the service desk and asked if she could speak with Walter Gaerhard. She gave her name and sat down to wait. A few minutes later a muscular man with skin the color of black ivory opened the door and looked in. “Dr. Brandywine?” he asked.
“Mr. Gaerhard.”
He smiled and offered his hand. “You wanted to see me?”
“For a few minutes.”
“I’m not buying anything.”
“It’s nothing like that. Can I take you to lunch?”
He was looking closely at her, trying to imagine why she was there. “It’s early, Doctor. But thank you. What can I do for you?”
“How good’s your memory?”
“It’s okay.” He led her into a side office. “Are you from Personnel?”
“No. I’m not connected with the company.”
He offered a chair and took one himself. “So what did you want me to remember?”
“I want to go back twenty-seven years.”
“That’s a few.”
“You did some repairs on the jump engines of a yacht owned by the Tripley Foundation. The Hunter.”
His features hardened. “Don’t remember,” he said. “Twenty-seven years is a long time.”
“Interstellar must keep records. Would it help to consult them?”
“Not that far back.”
“You don’t recall working on the Hunter? At all?”
“No.” He stood up. “How could you expect me to? What’s this about, anyway?”
“I’m doing research on the Tripley Foundation. The Hunter is a key part of that history. It was Kile Tripley’s personal yacht.”
“I just don’t remember anything that long ago.” He was leaning toward the door, anxious to be away. “Anything else?”
“I’m not the police,” she said. “I’m not suggesting anything’s wrong.”
“I’m sorry to cut this short but I really have to get to work.” And he literally bolted from the room, leaving her staring after him.
The crash that had killed Kim’s parents was one of those anomalies that isn’t supposed to be possible. People died in accidents: they fell off mountains and sailed into storms and got cramps while swimming, but the transportation systems were very nearly 100 percent safe. Very nearly.
Afterward Kim’s aunt Jessica had taken her in, and among the numerous gifts she received from that fine woman had been an appreciation for mysteries. Although it had taken Markis Kane to introduce her to Veronica King.
On the train home, she dived into The Parkington Horror, one of the earlier adventures of that eccentric private investigator. The detective’s Moor Island home base was filled with artifacts from the early years of settlement. The atmosphere was gothic, the dramas played out in crumbling ruins along the ocean or in upland retreats whose sloping dormers and gray windows reflected the madness of their builders.
But Kim wasn’t able to put the interviews with Tripley and Gaerhard out of her mind. The CEO had convinced her that, if anything out of the way had happened on the last flight, he was unaware of it. And didn’t want to know about it.
Gaerhard, on the other hand, was hiding something. She asked herself what secret he could possibly be guarding? And judging from his reaction, it was a secret that would still get him in trouble, even after all these years. The only thing she could think of was that there had been no mechanical problem with the Hunter, or there had been a different problem from the one claimed. And that he had faked the reports. Which meant he’d been bribed. If so, it suggested the Hunter had returned for reasons other than needing repairs. But what might those reasons have been?