He drew a mixture of laughs and clapping, making it clear that he was a popular figure with the ACA. He started with a few gags, describing his own efforts to decipher what he referred to as the quantum code, in an effort to establish his name along with Newton, Einstein, and Yuri Ko-san. “And,” he added seriously, after the laughter subsided, “with Del Housman.”
That drew serious applause.
It grew, and the audience came to their feet in recognition of their lost colleague.
McCord waited for quiet. When it came, he said that his own name would be remembered, but only because he had been a lifelong friend of Housman, and possibly because he’d written an introduction to the great physicist’s groundbreaking book on the big bang. “We still don’t know how it happened,” he said, “and maybe we never will. But Del at least gave us a workable theory.
“I was fortunate,” he added. “I knew Del from my earliest years. We chased each other up and down Boynton Street with pop guns. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit here. Actually, he chased me. Later, we chased girls. In fact, I probably shouldn’t mention this, but a couple of them are here tonight.”
More laughter. Members of the audience looked around and pointed fingers.
“Getting serious for a moment,” McCord said, “when we consider what Del accomplished in his short lifetime, we are left to wonder what else he might have done, had he been granted a few more years. He loved science. I’ve never known anyone more addicted to resolving the riddles of the universe. And I guess I should admit that I never knew anyone with a more active mind. He used to start explaining things to me, where he thought he’d gotten hold of something, and the equations wound up on the board, and I’d get absolutely lost in the twists and turns.
“It’s been almost twelve years now since we lost him, and I still can’t believe he’s gone.” He stood for a moment, not finished, struggling with whatever else he had. Then he simply wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, said thank you, and returned to his seat. The audience remained silent for a few seconds before another round of applause began and took over the building.
• • •
We passed through the lobby and were on our way out the door when a tall, elderly guy with stern features drew alongside us. “Pardon me,” he said. “You’re Alex Benedict, aren’t you?” He had thick white hair and dark inquiring eyes.
“Yes,” said Alex.
“We have the same first name, sir. I’m Professor Alexander Clemens. I was an associate director at Quantum Research a few years ago.”
“It’s good to meet you, Professor. What can I do for you?”
“You might know me as Charlie Clemens. I’ve always used my middle name.”
“Oh yes. I remember. We met once or twice, I believe.”
“That was before we lost the station.”
“How can I help you, Professor?”
“Call me Charlie, if you will. I need a favor.” He drew us back into the lobby and we settled into chairs in a remote corner where we would have some privacy. “Alex, did you see Lashonda Walton on HV the other night?”
“Yes.”
“I was working for her when it happened.”
“It must have been a difficult time.”
“It almost destroyed her.” He leaned forward so he could lower his voice and looked at me. He motioned with his eyes: Should we be alone for this?
“You don’t need to worry about Chase.”
Charlie smiled. “The activity lately about the station has brought it all back. May I ask you a personal question?”
“You may.”
“I know you’ve been working on this thing. Have you made any progress? You have any idea what might have happened?”
“Charlie, I’m sorry, but I’d just as soon not discuss theories. If you’re asking whether we’ve been able to lock anything down, I’d have to say the answer is no.”
“But you’ve concluded Housman’s involved.”
“I haven’t drawn any conclusions yet.”
Clemens closed his eyes and nodded. “But that’s the direction you’re headed. Am I right?”
“That would be premature.”
He smiled. “Alex, we both know that Housman barely mentioned Charlotte Hill in his paper. She was taking the shuttle out every day, and for a long time they relied on his calculations. There’s no evidence that he was the one to extend the search for the pods beyond the original specs. If he’d made the call, it would have shown up in the paperwork. That tells me it was Charlotte who took the shuttle deep. Who found the pods. And gave him his success. She was a smart woman. Probably genius level herself. And more flexible than Del. It doesn’t take much to conclude that he wasn’t anxious to share credit with her.”
“You’re suggesting,” said Alex, “Housman killed them all, and himself, rather than see that part of the story come out?”
“I’m asking for your opinion, Alex.”
“I don’t have an opinion yet. I try not to form one before the evidence comes in.”
“What kind of evidence are you looking for? That’s the problem here. The station’s gone. The only thing that’s left is the cannon.” He stopped and took a breath. “No one will ever be able to prove anything, Alex. You know that as well as I do. The only rational course at this point is the one that points at Housman. But there’ll never be any solid evidence, one way or another. If you continue to pursue this investigation, you’ll get the same results we did. You’ll resurrect the old antagonism about Housman, and about Greene, and in the end accomplish nothing. You said you saw Lashonda. She’s being dragged through it again. It’s been a terribly painful experience for her. She was front and center during the investigation and still feels responsible for our failure to come up with anything. I understand that makes no sense, but if you know her at all, you’re aware that she accepts responsibility for everything that happens around her. I’m sure you’ve noticed she’s not here tonight.”
“Look, Charlie, I can understand it’s been a difficult time for her. But I don’t see how she can feel responsible.”
“Okay. Look, she was warned that Del was driven by his ambition. That he wasn’t entirely stable. That putting him out on the station for a year and a half, in that kind of isolated environment, wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t listen.”
“You’re saying somebody predicted he would go on a killing spree?”
“No, nothing like that. But she was warned that he wouldn’t be a good player out there. She shook it off. Refused to buy it.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought he was the best man for the job. He’d spent his life doing wormhole research, and she wanted the program to succeed. At the time, he looked like our best option.”
“If I may?” I said. “Professor, how do you think Housman could have destroyed the station?”
“All he would have had to do would be to take the shuttle out. He could have done it while the station was in the silent zone, where they had no communication with anyone else. He takes it out a few thousand kilometers. They might have realized why he was doing it, but it wouldn’t have mattered. There would have been nothing they could do to prevent it. He turns it around, runs up the acceleration, and crashes it into them. I’m sure you’re aware”—he glanced toward me again—“that if he’d wanted to, he could have knocked the station out of orbit. We both know what that would probably have meant.”
“Into the black hole.”
“If he got the right angle.”
We ordered a round of drinks, and while we waited for them to arrive, Professor Clemens asked whether Alex had reached a similar conclusion.
“It’s still in the air,” Alex said.
“I understand,” I said, “that they had blasters that could have been used if there’d been a threat from an asteroid.”
“That’s correct,” said Clemens. “They could have destroyed the shuttle.”
“I suspect,” said Alex, “if something like that had happe
ned, they’d have had a hard time believing Housman was putting them all at risk. I’m not sure anyone would have pulled the trigger in time. That would be a terrible decision.”
“Alex, he could have deactivated the system before he took the shuttle out.”
The drinks arrived. Clemens proposed a toast to Lashonda Walton, whom he described as the fifth victim of the Octavia incident. “There are others,” Alex said. “Housman’s family took a hit. As did all the families.”
Clemens drained his glass, set it down, and studied us for a few moments. He studied Alex, really. He took a long look in my direction and pretty much dismissed me. “You’ve been evading the issue, Alex,” he said.
My boss sat back in his chair. “I don’t believe in drawing conclusions until the evidence is in.”
“Have it your way. But I’ll ask you, if you will, please don’t go public with whatever conclusions you come to. There never will be a definitive finale to this. Give Lashonda a break.”
• • •
Charlie paid for the drinks, thanked us for our time, and excused himself. We watched him exit through the front door. Alex glanced at my empty glass. “You want anything more?”
“I’m good,” I said. And after a long pause, “So what do you think?”
“I’ve thought all along that’s exactly what happened. Though I’m not sure who was in the shuttle. We have no way to be certain. Unless we can get Charlotte to talk to us.”
“That would be tricky.”
“Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you know that one of the senior engineers on the cannon project was a guy by the name of Royce Poliks?”
“Really?”
“Yes. He lives on Chippewa. It’s possible he and Charlotte made contact at some point and she told him what was going on.”
• • •
I walked into Alex’s office moments after Gabe found out we were planning a flight to Chippewa. Both of them were seated in armchairs, separated by a circular table. “Why in heaven’s name are you so caught up in this, Alex?” he asked. “Why don’t you just let it go and take care of your responsibilities to your clients?”
Alex glanced in my direction. Here we go again. That was probably an unfair interpretation because relations between them had improved considerably. As Gabe had said early on, they were both adults now. “Why am I doing this?” Alex said. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. What’s the point of it all?”
“Gabe, it’s one of the great mysteries of the age. Why wouldn’t we want to get a resolution?”
“How about this: if you do find out what happened, you’re very likely not going to want to tell anyone.”
“And why would that be?”
“It’s not likely they got attacked by aliens. Or pirates. Or whatever.”
“How can you be sure?”
“We can’t be sure. But we know they needed a hundred and forty-six days to complete an orbit. There were only that few hours when they were completely cut off. It could be a coincidence that the event happened during the cutoff period. But it’s extremely unlikely. So what does that tell us?”
Gabe bowed his head in my direction, inviting me to respond. But I didn’t want to get into the middle of it.
“It wasn’t an accident,” said Alex. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Of course it is,” said Gabe. Both of them were beginning to sound annoyed. “Somebody timed the incident to happen when any possibility of a transmission was blocked by the black hole. The problem is that if it really was one of the people at the station, he might have been able to arrange someone to come in quickly and rescue him, but he’d have had to abandon his life. The four people at Octavia had all spent their lives building their reputations, becoming somebody. What I’m trying to say is that if you ever get to the truth, if you ever find out who’s responsible, you’re going to cause a lot of pain to that individual’s family. I don’t for a minute believe Archie could have been guilty of anything like that, killing his partners. But one of them is going to turn out to be responsible.” He was staring out at the trees, looking at something neither Alex nor I could see. “My advice, Alex: leave it alone.”
Gabe turned toward the door. “I just don’t see why you’d want to get involved in something this poisonous.” Then he was gone.
For a long minute neither of us spoke. Then Alex said, “I don’t guess that turned out very well.”
“Alex,” I said, “do you really think Housman did it?”
“Clemens probably has it right. Charlotte might have been threatening to demand credit for finding the pods. And rather than let that come out, Housman killed them. And himself. And it worked. His name is linked now with the giants. He might have thought it wasn’t too high a price.”
“So how do we establish something like that?”
“Find the Poliks message. At this point it’s all we have.”
XXXI.
The hurricane wiped out our power for three weeks. The modification system is supposed to be proof against storms, and it was the first time in living memory it had gone down. It left me realizing how many things we take for granted. Indoor bathroom facilities. Quick cures for virtually every illness. Not having to work for a living. Lights. Food that simply arrives when you want it.
—JOSEPH CALKIN, LETTER TO THE HARMONY TIMES, 1311
The Chippewa registry had shown only one Royce Poliks on the planet. Alex had sent a message explaining that he was researching the loss of Octavia and asking whether a discussion via hypercomm could be arranged. The message came back a month later marked “addressee unavailable.” “This feels like a colossal waste of time,” he said. “But I guess we don’t have much choice.” That same afternoon we were on our way in the Belle-Marie. Three days later we arrived at Ventnor, Chippewa’s space station.
Chippewa was one of the early colony worlds. It was originally claimed by people who were unhappy with life on Earth. They didn’t like authority, whether it was political or religious or whatever, and they were determined to keep it at a distance. Consequently, Chippewa still has not become home to big cities and large populations. It is basically a world devoted to country life, to hilltop cottages and small towns. It’s a place where people enjoy mountain climbing, walking in the rain, and sitting on their front porches where they feel almost a camaraderie with the trees. The trees, one of them once explained to me, are alive, just as the inhabitants of the towns are. When you wander through the woods, the residents claim, you are not really alone.
I’ve never completely grasped that perspective but I’ve been there a few times and seen its effects. This is not a place where people sit in their homes and watch their HVs endlessly into the night. They spend time with their neighbors, live lives of ongoing leisure, and consider themselves the smartest people in the Confederacy. Like everyone else, they have a guaranteed income. I’ve never seen anyone there who has shown an appetite for wealth. I suspect that a person who displayed that tendency would not have been welcome.
Ventnor is probably the smallest space station on any of the major human worlds. We located Poliks in Gavindale, which stood on the edge of a mountain chain in the center of the only continent on the planet. The station had only two shuttles and we’d have had to wait four days to get the flight down to Kassel, which was the only spaceport anywhere close to Gavindale. So we applied for permission to use our lander. Fortunately they didn’t charge much. We connected Belle with a map in the welcome center, waited a half hour for the station to reach a favorable position, and launched.
We were on the night side when we started down. Belle told me we could expect to arrive at Gavindale shortly after midnight local time. There was no point in showing up at Poliks’s home in the middle of the night, so we made for the nearby terminal at Carbon City. Chippewa has a pair of moons, but neither was visible. We descended through clear skies. There were a few scattered lights on the ground, though not
the bright patches one usually sees on the night side of a major world. These were relatively dim and distributed through the darkness. Belle informed us there’d be a slight delay while an aircraft landed. We watched it go down, and then we followed and touched down a short distance away. We got sleeping accommodations at the port, and in the morning flew the lander into Gavindale and arrived in a field just west of Poliks’s place. It was a two-story chalet at the foot of a low hill.
There were several other homes nearby. The grounds were well kept, and a couple of boys were playing on a slide. We got out of the lander and proceeded along a walkway onto a front porch. The door opened as we arrived and a small woman looked out at us. She had brown hair and carried a bucket, which she placed outside the door while she stared at us in surprise. “Hello,” she said. “We don’t see many strangers around here.”
“Hi,” said Alex. “My name is Alex Benedict. Does Royce Poliks live here?”
“Yes, he does.”
“We’re doing research on the loss of the Octavia station and I was hoping to talk with him.”
She couldn’t resist sighing. “He’s not here right now.”
Inside, two kids were talking, probably with AIs. Both were girls. One was doing math. The other was playing a game.
“But he does live here?” said Alex.
“That’s correct. Are you the person who was sending mail recently? Asking to communicate with him by hypercomm?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but he’s just not here now. Won’t be for probably a few weeks.”
“Can you tell me where he is?”
She came outside and pulled the door shut behind her. “Mr. Benedict, I’m sorry. But we’ve had enough about Octavia. I don’t know how many times he’s been interviewed by people trying to find out what happened. It’s always the same story, and they always ask the same questions. Asking him how he felt when they all got lost. Whether he thought nobody should have gone near the black hole. Maybe you should go interview them.”
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