Michel Darboux had seen the same thing. “Perhaps it will happen sooner than you think,” he said. “Your girls can provide sweet nectar for many bees. The men will fly to them — especially if the girls encourage it.”
The suggestion was truly alarming. I had known, as he could not, all the girls in their original incarnations. Before I rescued them, Amity and Bridget and Darlene and Katherine had been child prostitutes, as had Crystal and Alyson (eight years old today and still, thank God, far from puberty). I had saved them from that fate, bringing them anew into a world with every advantage of education and opportunity that I could provide. Only at the genetic level were they what they had once been.
But genetics might be too much. The old debates of nature versus nurture, heredity versus environment, had ended in a standoff. Neither factor could be ignored; either might dominate in an individual case.
Darboux was touching my arm. “M’sieur, we are ready to serve lunch. If you would summon your young ladies . . .”
I nodded. My attention was divided: the clatter of serving dishes behind me; in front of me the girls, seeing or smelling food and standing up to smooth flowered skirts over strong young limbs; off to my right the ogling audience of youths, knowing that the show was over but reluctant to leave. It was at that strange and inopportune moment, when murder, mayhem, and mystery seemed farthest from my mind, that I grasped the nature and dark motive of the Sky City killer.
I did not yet have an identity, but the information to provide that should be readily available. As soon as we returned to the castle, I would download certain Earth-based financial and genealogical data. And then, at last, I would be able, like Shakespeare’s poet, to give “to airy nothing a local habitation and a name.”
How sure was I of my answer? It may sound implausible if I say that I was utterly sure. Yet I was. Like Poincare, the solution had come to me with such “characteristics of brevity, suddenness, and immediate certainty” that I had no doubts at all.
I cannot pretend that I enjoy meetings with Seth Parsigian, either in person or at a distance. His intelligence is not in question, but there is a rude directness to the man that I find hard to tolerate. Rarely, as now, did I look forward to a call from him.
Which, with the perversity of events, did not come when expected. According to our agreement I would call Seth only in an emergency, but he could call me anytime. That was not as unreasonable as it sounds. I hated to make outgoing calls from the castle, and would do so only on a voice-only line. He, however, was out on the front line of Sky City, juggling permits and people and equipment (his RV jacket was finicky and sometimes unreliable), while I was “sittin’ safe at home laughin’ and scratchin’.”
Scratching I was not; itching I certainly was-itching to tell Seth what I knew. Half an hour’s work at the general data banks after we returned from the birthday party had been enough. I knew the name of the murderer.
What I did not have was proof. Worse than that, I saw no way for Seth and me ever to obtain proof unless there was another killing, which seemed, for good and sufficient reasons, unlikely to occur.
When the call came it was past three in the morning. I was not asleep. Excitement at my discovery kept me awake, along with another growing concern arising from the events of the day. It had been my original intention for my darlings to reach the biological age of fourteen, and remain there indefinitely. I now knew that was impossible. The telomod protocols that I myself had pioneered made it a simple task to reset the telomeres of each chromosome to any length, from that of newborn babe to octogenarian. That was not the problem. At issue was the wisdom and feasibility of my plan. Even if no one else discovered the existence of eighteen girls forever in the bloom of early womanhood, my darlings themselves would certainly notice. They had the disposition to demand answers from me, plus the intelligence to dismiss evasions and falsehood.
The alternatives were equally unappealing. Oliver Guest, serial killer of young girls, might seek to do what he had done before: remove them from the world as they came to puberty, and begin with new clones. Except that was now unthinkable; the misery and degradation of their sometime existence was no longer a justification for such an action.
The other option was to allow the girls to age naturally, and thus inevitably to lose them when they became full adults. It occurred to me, as never before, that this was the plight of every parent. I pondered, I agonized, and I discovered no acceptable answer. Seth’s call, when it finally came, was doubly welcome.
It was also surprising. The RV link was on, but I could see Seth’s face against the background of the one-room apartment that he had rented for use on Sky City.
“Oh, yeah,” he said at my question. “I keep the earpiece in all the time, but I don’t wear the RV jacket at night ’cause it’s too hot. It’s hung on the wall over there, an’ you’re gettin’ its picture.”
It was, in fact, a rather superior picture. The suit was in a fixed position, which removed the need for image motion compensation and restoration.
“I was expecting your call much earlier,” I said. “Have you been experiencing difficulties?”
I was surprised by the strength of his reaction. I was looking forward to revealing to him my own discovery, and had asked my question more to extend the moment than in anticipation of a positive answer.
He glared at me. His eyes were bloodshot and dark-rimmed. “Difficulties? You gotta be kidding. Don’t you know what’s goin’ on up here?”
“I assume that you are seeking evidence and possible assistance on Sky City.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Both counts. This place is a madhouse. They’re gettin1 ready to move the whole shebang out to the end of the shield. Nobody knows if the stresses will make the city fall apart. An’ it’s worse than that. Listen.”
It was clear from his manner that I was going to do so, whether I elected to or not. He spoke of the harassment and continuing suspicion he had encountered when he tried to wander the corridors and chambers of Sky City alone. He spoke of his increasing conviction that he needed help. I made sympathetic noises, waiting to reveal my own discovery.
Then he told me of his meeting with and solicitation of assistance from another Argos Group employee. All my sympathy vanished.
“You did what?” I said. “That is pure insanity.”
“I guess you know that when you see it.”
“We agreed that everything between us would be held totally secret!”
“We did. It will.” Seth remained calm. “Hold your water, Doc. Your name and your role in this were never mentioned. All I asked Maddy Wheatstone to do was roll round Sky City with me for a while, so I could go places in peace. She has no idea what the RV jacket does. Even if you spoke to me, she’d never know it. The earpiece don’t make enough noise for anybody but me to hear.”
“That attitude is naive beyond belief. The woman could learn too much in a dozen ways.”
“Name one.”
“I will name three. First, suppose that you at my request suddenly follow a person, or undertake a different course of action from the one you have been engaged in.”
“I’ll tell her why I’m doin’ it.”
“Suppose you do not know the reason? Are you claiming to be privy to my innermost thoughts?”
“Not for a pension. You tryin’ to give me the creeps? I’ll find a reason to give her.”
“Very well. Consider this situation. Both of you work for the Argos Group, and from what you say she is highly placed within it. Suppose that she goes to her superior and asks who else is involved in what you are doing.”
“She’ll strike out. Gordy Rolfe don’t work like that. Nobody in the Argos Group knows I came to you, an’ no one will. The only person who knows I’m on this job is the man who assigned it to me, an’ Gordy’ll let you have fifteen feet of his small intestine before he’ll give up information.”
If Seth was typical of the Argos Group, I readily accepted what he said regarding the pauci
ty of information transfer. But I was not yet satisfied. “This woman, Maddy Wheatstone, will surely not assist you for no reason. There must be a quid pro quo. Suppose that she insists on knowing more of what you are doing, as a condition for her cooperation.”
“I told her I was looking for the murderer, an’ that was enough. She wants me to help her keep an eye on a guy called John Hyslop, a big-shot engineer on Sky City. And no, she didn’t tell me why she’s watching him. She’s as tight as Gordy Rolfe.” Seth lay back on his bed, so the RV jacket no longer provided me with a view of his face. “Anyway.” His voice was weary. “If you had let me finish before you blew off, you’d have seen why none of this matters worth a damn. I met John Hyslop, an’ I’m spendin’ a helluva lot of time diggin’ into the data bases, lookin’ for clues an’ findin’ diddly-squat. An’ Maddy Wheatstone an’ me are traipsin’ round Sky City like a couple of mad tourists. But the places where the kids were killed have been picked over fine. I’m tellin’you, chances of us comin’ across anythin’ like a lead to the murderer are flat-out zero.”
My moment had come. “That,” I said softly, “is no longer necessary.”
“Say what?” He raised his head.
“You no longer need to seek evidence on Sky City. I know the name, occupation, motive, and present location of the murderer.”
I exaggerated a little. My knowledge of the killer’s present location was in truth a little imprecise.
Seth was on his feet again. “I don’t believe it. Tell me everything.”
I did, slowly, carefully, and completely. It took many minutes, but there was no danger that Seth’s attention might wander. At the end I said, “Well? Are you persuaded?”
“Yeah. You got it.” He was silent for a while, then repeated, “You got it. You don’t even need to send the data you pulled in today. I believe you. But you know the problem?”
“Of course. A court of law is a curiously irrational place. It disdains a mosaic of collateral evidence that any rational person regards as conclusive, and asks for proof. The knife in the murderer’s hand, the foot still on the victim’s windpipe. Proof.”
“Which we need and don’t have.”
“Precisely.”
“And until we got it we got nothin’.”
That was hardly fair. I forbore to point out to him that if we now had nothing, an hour ago he had had considerably less than nothing.
“So we still have problems,” he went on. “You feel sure there’ll be no more killings?”
“What would be the point? There is no need for them. And our murderer is supremely logical.”
“Logical, and a monster. What do we do?”
“We think. Or, more precisely, I think. For the moment, I suggest that you remain on Sky City.”
“Great. I stay up here while this crapheap flies off to nowhere or comes apart tryin’.”
“Remain there for the time being. Continue to cultivate Maddy Wheatstone and, if you can, the engineer, John Hyslop.”
He stared at me shrewdly. “You’re holdin’ out on me. You got somethin’ more.”
“No.” I shook my head, even though there was no way that he could see me. “I have nothing close to an answer. If and when I do, you will hear from me instantly. I have no more desire than you to prolong this enterprise.”
“Mmm. An’ I thought you were gettin’ fond of me.” Seth paused for a moment, then added, “Good one, Doc. You did some fancy thinkin’ after all, just when I was ready to write you off. Do it one more time, and let’s nail the bastard.”
He broke the connection, rather before I was ready to do so. It had been my intention to warn him to take care. The murderer would certainly be willing to kill again for one reason: to prevent discovery.
Then my rational processes gave me reassurance. Even if Seth’s wanderings through Sky City had been noticed, there was no reason to believe that our search would be more fruitful than anyone else’s. The evidence was old or vanished. Furthermore, Seth had in the past given ample proof that he was able to look after himself. He would not be an easy man to kill.
I reflected that Seth’s final words showed, in his own bizarre way, sincere appreciation for my efforts. I had done “some fancy thinking,” just as he said. As for “Do it one more time,” I wondered if that would be possible.
I am not ready to say otherwise, although I have in truth no idea how to catch our killer. What I do have is a conviction that waiting for another murder, or seeking additional evidence of past murders, will be pointless. We are dealing with an individual who employs precise calculation before taking action. Twelve murders were enough, so there will be no more. And such material evidence as has already been found has been picked clean, over and over, by numerous investigating teams. It is old and unlikely to yield a single further shred of useful data. The killer must be feeling very comfortable.
How, then, to catch such a person?
Again I defer to you, the invisible reader of my words. You were ahead of me, perhaps, in divining the identity of the murderer. Do you also know how to ensure apprehension? Remember, the evidence must be strong, direct, and incontestable.
I do not know. Not yet. But I do know this: No passive procedure will work. Any successful approach must take the initiative.
The conversation with Seth took only half an hour, but by the time I went to my bedroom the clock on the dresser showed almost four. After a busy day — and night — l had earned, one might think, a little sleep. However, at fifty-five degrees north the late-July sunrise already lightened the sky. Long experience has taught me that I cannot sleep during daylight hours.
I went back to the kitchen, made strong coffee, and sat down at the long butcher-block table to record the events of the past twenty-four hours. I was very tired, and my mind interspersed memories of the pleasant birthday party with thoughts of the Sky City murders. Regrettably, I achieved no insights comparable with those of the great Henri Poincare after partaking of black coffee. However, one useful conclusion did emerge.
During the next few weeks, unprecedented events would be taking place on Sky City as it flew far out from Earth to take its position close to Cusp Station. It was possible that those same events would provide an unprecedented opportunity to catch our killer.
I had been patient in restoring my darlings, waiting many years before I began their cloning. Seth and I could not wait so long, but we, too, must be patient — and always ready to act.
20
It took Nick Lopez three tries before Celine was persuaded.
“You don’t have to like the son of a bitch,” he said. “Hell, I don’t like him myself. But he’s the brains behind the rolfe designs, and all the related patents are his.”
“I don’t deny that.” Celine felt besieged. She had tried to begin a normal day of work, but urgent messages from Lopez had popped up everywhere until finally she had agreed to meet with him in the Oval Office. It was almost ten o’clock, she had yet to make her first planned meeting, and her schedule was in tatters. “I know how valuable the rolfes are for space work, but we already have a slew of them in Sky City and on the shield. If Rolfe says he’s pulling them out of there, we’ll simply invoke emergency powers and say no.”
“That’s not the problem.” Lopez pulled a sheaf of papers from his case and brandished them at Celine. “These are orders from Sky City for additional rolfes with special new capabilities. We know that Gordy Rolfe can provide the machines — he has advertised them, even boasted about them. We’d like to see them shipped up as soon as possible, but without Rolfe’s cooperation it won’t happen. He laughs and says the changes are trivial; but no one on my staff or on Sky City knows how to make them.”
“Have you asked him to cooperate?”
“Of course. I told him about Wilmer Oldfield and Star Vjansander’s work, and I stressed the urgency of the new schedule. He says it’s all nonsense. He’s heard all the panic talk from me before, and he doesn’t believe there’s going to be a diff
erent form of particle storm. Even if there is, he says, he’ll be safe.”
“Probably true. He’ll hide underground. But I don’t see how I’ll be any better at talking Rolfe into helping us than you’ve been.”
“He likes you.” Lopez was pouring on the charm. Celine could feel the force of his personality washing over her like a relaxing tide.
“Nick, that’s rubbish. I don’t think Gordy Rolfe likes anyone.”
“He says he’s willing to meet with you. That’s better than I could do.”
“You tried?”
“I called him again yesterday. He told me to go away and stick my head up my ass.”
“That’s not very nice. On the other hand, Gordy Rolfe told one of my staff, less than a month ago, that I was a raddled old trollop who’d be more at home in the whorehouse than the White House. Likes me? Nick, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Well, he did agree to meet with you.”
“Why?”
“Because he admires you. You’re probably the one woman in the world—”
“Nick! Gordy Rolfe doesn’t admire any woman. He tolerates a few, but I’m not one of them.”
He sagged back in his suit and ran a hand through his bushy gray hair. His frown of defeat was more friendly and disarming than the average smile. “All right. So he doesn’t admire you. I have no idea what that twisted little runt thinks of you. My best guess, he says he’ll meet with you because he thinks there’s a chance he’ll be able to humiliate you. Me, he’s already humiliated.”
“Thank you, Nick. At last. That, I can accept. Now tell me how I’m supposed to talk Gordy Rolfe into coughing up the rolfes that we need on Sky City.”
“He needs your help. You’ve got something he wants.”
“Remind me.”
“Well, according to what I’ve heard — only rumor, of course . . .” Lopez was gazing down and sideways, as though fascinated by the old wicker wastepaper basket beside Celine’s desk. “According to rumor, you promised you’d help the Argos Group with a license for a new launch facility on U.S. territory, off the coast of Florida.”
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