Investments

by Walter Jon Williams

  He’d just have to find something else to amuse him for the next few months, and he thought he knew what it was.

  He’d been unable to entirely forget the dream he’d had at Rio Hondo, and he’d loaded his personal data foil with articles on puppets, puppeteers, marionettes, automata, shadow puppets, and recordings of performances.

  People on long voyages found many ways to occupy their hours. Some gambled, some drank, some drew into themselves. Some concentrated obsessively on their work. Some watched recorded entertainments, some had affairs with other crew members, some played musical instruments. Some worked as hard as they could at making everyone else on the ship miserable.

  Perhaps, Severin thought, he would be the first to plan a puppet theater.

  Certainly it was a field that seemed to have a lot of room to expand.

  *

  “Are you all on virtual?” asked the astronomer Shon-dan. “I’m transmitting the outside cameras on Channel Seventeen.”

  “Comm: Channel Seventeen.” Terza’s soft voice came to Martinez’ ears from the nearest acceleration couch.

  Martinez was already on the correct channel, his head filled with the stars as viewed from the Kayenta as it passed the final moments of its twenty-day acceleration out of the Laredo system. The virtual cap he wore to project the image onto his visual centers was lighter than the Fleet issue, which required earphones and microphone pickups, and he sensed other differences as well: the depth of field was subtly different, a bit flatter, perhaps because the civilian rig required less precision.

  The stars were thrown like a great wash of diamonds across the midnight backdrop, silent and steady and grand. They were the home stars under which Martinez had spent the first half of his life, and his mind naturally sought the familiar, comforting constellations in their well-known places. Laredo’s own star, this far out, was hardly brighter than other bright stars. The software had been instructed to blot out Kayenta’s brilliant tail so as to avoid losing the stars by contrast, and the result was a flickering, disturbing negative blot occupying one part of the display, a void of absolute darkness that seemed to pursue the ship.

  Martinez and Terza were in Kayenta’s main lounge, the softly-scented center of the yacht’s social life. Shon-dan, an astronomer from the Imperial University of Zarafan who had come aboard as Marcella’s guest, was about to show the reason why an astronomical observatory had been placed on Chee Station, and why she had spent months journeying here.

  “Ten seconds,” Shon-dan said. “Eight. Five.”

  Kayenta was traveling too fast for Martinez to see the wormhole station as the ship flashed past, or the wormhole itself, the inverted bowl-of-stars that was their destination. The transition itself was instantaneous, and the star field changed at the same instant.

  A vast, lush globe of stars suddenly blazed across Martinez’ perceptions, occupying at least a third of the sky, the stars so packed together they seemed nearly as dense as glittering grains of sand stretched along an ocean shore. Martinez felt himself take an involuntary breath, and he heard Terza’s gasp. The closer Martinez looked, the more stars he saw. There seemed to be vague clouds and structures within the globe, each made up of more and more brilliants, but Martinez couldn’t tell whether the clouds actually existed or were the results of his own mind trying to create order in this vast, burning randomness, seeking the familiar just as it had sought out constellations in Laredo’s sky.

  Gazing into the vast star-globe was like drifting deeper and deeper into a endless sea, past complex, ill-defined shoals that on closer inspection were made up of millions of coral structures, while the structures themselves, looked at with greater care, were found to be composed of tiny limestone shells, and the shells themselves, on examination, each held tiny specks of life, a kind of infinite regression that baffled the senses.

  “Now you see why we’ve built the observatory.” Shon-dan’s voice, floating into Martinez’ perceptions, was quietly triumphant. “Of all the wormholes in the empire, this one leads to a system that’s closest to the center of a galaxy. This is our best chance to observe how a galactic core is structured. From here we can directly observe the effects on nearby stars of the supermassive black hole at the galaxy’s center.”

  With an effort of will Martinez shifted his attention away from the glowing globe to the rest of the starry envelope that surrounded Kayenta. By comparison with Laredo the entire sky was packed with stars, with an opalescent strip that marked the galaxy’s disk spiraling out into endless space. The Chee system was actually within the galactic core, though on its periphery, and stars on all sides were near and burning bright. Chee’s own star, Cheemah, shone with a warm yellow light, but other nearby stars equaled its fire.

  “The stars here are very dense,” Shon-dan said, “though not as dense as they are further in. The Chee system has seven stars— or maybe eight, we’re not sure— and the orbits are very complex.”

  “Do we actually know which galaxy we’re in?” Terza asked.

  “No. We’re scanning for Cepheids and other yardsticks that might give us an indication, but so far we haven’t found enough to make certain of anything. We could be anywhere in the universe, of course, and anywhere within a billion years of where we started.”

  Martinez heard footfalls enter the room, then the voice of Lord Pa. “Looking at the stars?” he said. “You’ll get tired of them soon enough. Between the galactic core and the other six stars in Chee’s system, there’s no true night on the planet, and we’ve had to install polarizing windows on all our workers’ dormitories just so our people can get some rest. I’ve just stopped looking at the sky— galactic centers are nasty violent places, and the less we have to do with them, the better.”

  “Stars are packed pretty closely here, true enough, my lord.” Shon-dan’s deference to a wealthy Peer did not quite disguise her disagreement. Clearly she was not about to tire of gazing at this sky anytime soon.

  “I’m going to sit and play a game of cinhal,” Lord Pa said. “Don’t let me disturb you.”

  Martinez returned his attention to the great, glowing galactic core while he heard Lord Pa shuffle to a table, then give it the muted commands to set up a game.

  “So far you’re only seeing the light in its visible spectrum,” Shon-dan said. “I’m going to add some other spectra in a moment. There will be some false colors. I’ll try to fix those later.” Martinez heard the Lai-own give a few muted commands, and then the galactic core shifted from a pearly color to a muted amber, and the great sphere was suddenly pierced through by an enormous lance of light, shimmering and alive, a giant pillar that seemed to stretched from the foundations of the universe to its uttermost heaven.

  Martinez gave an involuntary cry, and he heard Terza’s echo.

  “Yes.” Triumph had again entered Shon-dan’s voice. “That’s the beam of relativistic particles generated by the galaxy’s supermassive black hole. If you look closely, you’ll see it has fine structure— we didn’t expect that, and we’re working on theories of the phenomenon, but so far we don’t have an explanation.”

  In his virtual display Martinez coasted closer to the great burning pillar of energy, and he saw the pillar pulse with light, saw strands of opalescent color weave and shift as they were caught in some vast incomprehensible flow of power, a hypnotic dance of colossal force.

  For the next hour Shon-dan showed Martinez and Terza features within the galactic core, including the four giant stars now in a swift death spiral around the central black hole. “The black hole is feeding now,” he said. “Sometimes the supermassive black holes are actively involved in devouring neighboring stars and sometimes they aren’t. We don’t know why or how they shift from one state to another.”

  “Nasty, as I said,” said Lord Pa, from somewhere outside the universe that occupied Martinez’ head. “I have to say that I prefer nature a good deal less chaotic and destructive. I like games with rules. I like comfortable chairs, compound interest, and a
guaranteed annual profit. I prefer not to think of some cosmic accident readying itself to jump out of hiding and suck all my comforts right out of the universe.”

  “We’re perfectly safe from the black hole, my lord,” Shon-dan said. “We’re nowhere near the danger zone.”

  Martinez quietly turned off the virtual display to take a look at Lord Pa. He sat in a Lai-own chair that cradled his breastbone, and was bent over the room’s game board. The light from the display shone up on his face, on the short muzzle and deep red eyes.

  Behind Pa the yellow chesz wood panels, inset with red enjo in abstract designs, glowed in the recessed lights of the lounge. A heavy crystal goblet sat near one hand, filled with Lai-own protein broth.

  Comforts, Martinez thought. Guaranteed profit. Right.

  “Perhaps we should break for now,” Shon-dan said. He had noticed Martinez leaving the virtual display.

  “Thank you,” Terza said. “That was breathtaking. I hope we can do it again.”

  “I’d be delighted,” Shon-dan said, rising. She was a Lai-own, with golden eyes, and wore a formal academic uniform of dark brown with several medals of scholastic distinction. She was young for all her honors, and the feathery side-hairs on her head were still a youthful brown.

  “We have another twenty-three days to Chee,” she said, “and the stars will be there the entire time.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” Martinez said.

  He rose from his couch and walked to the bar, where he poured himself a brandy. He idled toward Lord Pa, who was still bent over his game. Martinez scanned the board, spotted at once the move that Lord Pa should make, and began to point it out before he decided not to.

  On the twentieth day of the voyage, Kayenta’s passengers were beginning to get on each other’s nerves a little.

  The first part of the trip had been as pleasant and social as possible, given that Martinez suspected one of the party of stealing from his family. Marcella, Lord Pa, Martinez, Terza, and Shon-dan had dined together each day. Tingo and other games had been suggested, but interest in gambling waned after it became clear that Terza and Martinez weren’t attracted to high play, and that Shon-dan’s academic salary didn’t allow her to play even for what passed for small change amid Peers.

  The conversation during and after meals had ranged far and wide, though Terza had cautioned Martinez about raising the kind of questions he burned to ask, detailed questions about the financial arrangements between the Cree and Meridian companies. “It will sound like an interrogation,” she said.

  Martinez confined himself to a few mild queries per day, beginning with broad questions about the progress of the Chee settlements, then going into more detail as the conversation developed. Marcella and Pa seemed pleased enough to talk about their work, and Martinez found himself genuinely interested in the technical details; though Martinez made a point of breaking off when he saw a slight frown on Terza’s face, or felt the soft touch of her hand on his thigh.

  Shon-dan talked about astronomical subjects. Martinez told his war stories. Terza avoided the subject of her work at the Ministry, but spoke of High City society, and brought out her harp and played a number of sonatas.

  But now, by the twentieth day, the conversations had grown a little listless. Marcella spent much time in her cabin, working on Cree Company business, smoking endless cigarettes, and playing spiky, nerve-jabbing music that rattled her cabin door in its frame. Lord Pa received and sent detailed memoranda to his crews on Cree, and otherwise spent a lot of time puzzling over his game board.

  Martinez sent frequent videos to his son— the three months aboard Wi-hun with a small and lively child had been challenging enough for all concerned, so Young Gareth had been left on Laredo with his nursemaid and his doting grandparents. The videos that Martinez received in return were full of excitement, for Lord Martinez had introduced his grandson to his collection of vintage automobiles, and had been roaring around on his private track with Young Gareth as a passenger.

  “Gareth’s favorite is the Lodi Turbine Express,” Martinez told Terza. “At his age I liked that one myself, though I liked the Scarlet Messenger better.” And then, at her look, said, “My father hasn’t had an accident yet, you know.”

  “I’ll try to be reassured,” Terza said. She had just come from her dressing room, where she’d prepared for bed: her black hair had been brushed till it glowed and then tied with ribbon, and her face was scrubbed of cosmetic and softly sheened with health. Over her nightgown she wore a bed jacket that crackled with gold brocade.

  After Shon-dan’s astronomical exhibition they’d retired to their suite, glossy light behl wood paneling veined in blood-red, a video screen in a lacy Rakthan frame, a bathtub hacked out of a single block of chocolate-brown marble and which— to avoid gooseflesh on entering— was warmed by hidden heating elements of a vaguely sonic nature.

  “My father could have worse hobbies,” Martinez pointed out. “Racing pai-car chariots, say.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, too.”

  Twenty days on the small vessel had, perhaps, begun to unravel slightly the serenity that Terza carried with her, the unearthly tranquility that Martinez had come to admire as her greatest accomplishment. He rose from his chair and stood behind her, his big hands working through the crisp silk of her jacket to loosen her shoulder muscles. She sighed and relaxed against him.

  “You miss Gareth, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “So do I.”

  They had not spent so much time apart from the boy since he had been born.

  “This has got to be dull for you,” Martinez said. “Maybe we should have left you on Laredo.”

  “Dull?” Her tone was amused. “Reviewing contracts in hopes of discovering hidden felonies? Surely not.”

  He smiled. “Won’t it be exciting if you actually find one?”

  “But I won’t find one. Not in the contracts. Lawyers have been all over the contracts to make sure no hint of impropriety will be found. If there’s anything to be found, it will be in interpretation and practice.”

  He hadn’t been able to obtain any of the contracts that the Cree Company had signed with their prime contractor— neither he nor Terza nor Roland were officers of the company. But in his capacity as Lord Inspector he’d acquired the entire file of the dealings the Meridian Company had with the Fleet, for building Fleet installations on Cree and in Cree orbit. But Martinez hadn’t enough experience to understand the contracts particularly well, and so Terza had been pressed into the job.

  “Escalator clauses are always suspect, and the contracts have plenty of them,” Terza said. “On a big job there are always a thousand places to hide illegitimate expenses, and this job is literally as big as a planet. Meridian is allowed to revise the estimates if unexpected conditions cause their own costs to rise, and there are always unexpected conditions. A little to the right, please.”

  Martinez obliged. “Surely they can’t jack up their expenses forever,” he said.

  “No. In the case of the Fleet contracts, the local Fleet representative has to agree that the rises are justified.”

  “According to the records she almost always did,” Martinez said. “And now she’s received her captaincy and has been posted to the Fourth Fleet, so I won’t be able to ask her any questions.”

  Amusement returned to Terza’s voice. “I’m sure that if you saw her, she would of course immediately inform you of any unjustified cost overrides that she’d personally approved. I think you’re better off with the new commander. He won’t be obliged to defend his predecessor’s expenses.” She stretched, raising her arms over her head, torquing her spine left and right. Martinez could feel the muscles flex beneath his fingertips.

  He left off his massage as she bent forward, flexing her spine again, pressing her palms to the deep pile carpet. She straightened, sighed, turned to face him.

  “Thank you,” she said. She put her arms aroun
d him, pillowed her head on his chest. “This could still be a pleasant vacation, you know.”

  I’ve been on vacation for three years, he wanted to say. Digging around in old Fleet construction contracts was the most useful thing he’d done in ages.

  But he knew what Terza meant. “I’ll try to remember to look at the stars now and again,” he said.

  Her arms tightened around him. “I had thought we might make good use of the time.”

  Martinez smiled. “I have no objection.”

  Terza drew her head back, her dark eyes raised to his. “That’s not entirely what I meant,” she said. “I thought we might give Gareth a brother or sister.”

  A rush of sensation took his breath away. Martinez’ marriage had been arranged, not an uncommon phenomenon among Peers— and in Martinez’ case, Roland had arranged the marriage with a crowbar. For all that Martinez had genuinely wanted a child, Young Gareth had been arranged as well. Martinez knew perfectly well that Terza had been lowering herself to marry him— Lord Chen required significant financial help from the Martinez clan at the time— and Martinez had always wondered just what Terza had thought of the long-armed provincial officer she’d been constrained, on only a few hours’ acquaintance, to marry.

  Wondered, but never asked. He never asked questions when he knew the answers might draw him into sadness.

  He had watched with increasing pleasure as Terza floated into his life, supported by that quality of serenity that was, perhaps, just a bit too eerily perfect. He had never been completely certain what might happen if Lord Chen, his finances recovered, ordered his daughter to divorce. It was always possible that she would leave her marriage with the same unearthly tranquility with which she’d entered it. He had never known precisely what was going on behind that composed, lovely face.