The exploit had entered story and song. Books had been written, and there were few children on Greenway who had not played at being Markis Kane on the 376.
The Third Fleet had been Greenway’s principal attack arm. It had won most of the victories, and absorbed most of the casualties. Its commander in chief had risen to the premiership on the strength of his performance, and its veterans still gathered in meeting places around the world.
The Mighty Third Memorial Museum was located on a peaceful hilltop on the western edge of Seabright, where, according to tradition, women and men from Earth had made their first landing on Greenway. The site looked down on a reflecting pool and a carefully cut green lawn and a series of walkways. Landing pads accommodated hundreds of visitors daily.
Kim stepped out of her cab and strolled up a gravel path that wound beneath a clutch of ancient oaks. Two of them were supposed to have been planted by the crew of that first lander, launched by the Constellation. But the descent had been six hundred years ago and the oaks couldn’t be more than half that old. Nevertheless it was a pleasant legend and no one bothered to dispute it.
The day was gorgeous, full of sunlight and the smell of the sea. Kids, tourists, and students were everywhere. She went inside, checked the guide, and walked into the east wing. An entire section was given over to the 376 and to Markis Kane.
There were photos of the hero, parts of the ship itself, and a mock-up of the flight deck. The actual command chair was encased behind a glass wall. One of the ship’s laser cannons pointed down a hallway. Personal articles of the crew were laid out, including a jacket that had belonged to Kane. The original logs were there, contained on two disks that gleamed like diamonds on the arm of the command chair. Copies were on sale in the museum store. And there was a strip of bloody cloth that the ship’s engineer had used to tie down the fuel leads after the 376 had taken a hit.
Kim read a copy of a letter sent to the parents of one of the crew killed on the mission.
She entered the VR tank and went through the flight, watching everything through Kane’s eyes. She emerged shaken, impressed by the courage and tenacity of the man.
Kane could not possibly have been part of a hoax. Not under any circumstances she could imagine. Therefore, if he’d told Sheyel nothing had happened, that should end the matter. And yet—
“Ah, Kim.” She turned and looked into the amiable features of Mikel Alaam, the museum director. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Good morning, Mikel.” She embraced him and offered her cheek for a kiss. “How’ve you been?”
Alaam wore his hair shoulder length. He had the sort of professional aloofness one usually finds in museum directors, fiction writers, and morticians. “Quite well, thank you. What brings you to the Mighty Third?”
“I’m interested in Markis Kane.”
“Ah, yes. He’s a fascinating man. He was here for the dedication. Even functioned as an advisor when we put the exhibition together.” They had pictures from the event: Kane drinking coffee with a couple of the technicians, Kane wielding a boltlight, Kane laughing with somebody’s kids.
“Really? When was that?”
“Oh, a long time ago. I was only an intern then, but I actually got to meet him. In fact I shook his hand.” He gazed soulfully at his palm.
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Not much. He was a friend of Art Wescott, who was the director at the time. I thought he seemed embarrassed by all the fuss. But we were delighted to have him. That was when they’d just dedicated the museum.”
“So it was—?”
“Around, what, 575. Sure, that was our first year.” He looked at the flight deck mock-up. “Yes,” Alaam continued. “He walked around, talked to everybody, signed autographs. Decent man. Not like some of these people—”
The room was bright with sunlight. Like Kane’s reputation.
Kim’s cab moved north up the coastline through a gray sky.
Ahead, Mount Morghani stood directly astride the shore line, overlooking Wheeling Bay. Morghani had provided a string of dictators with a natural fortress during the long years of their rule over the island empire. Esther Hox had carved from its slopes the Black Hall, a stronghold from which she directed military operations against the bands of rebels who tried unsuccessfully for four decades to unseat her.
Today, Morghani and its fortifications and the harbor it guarded provided Seabright with a stunning backdrop. The Black Hall was a major tourist draw. And a prime archeological site.
The structure was four hundred years old, built during the dark age that had followed hard after Greenway established itself formally as an independent political entity. Guns, lasers, and missile launchers were still in place in the surrounding mountains, and the control room from which Hox personally oversaw defenses was still visited annually by tens of thousands.
The Black Hall had become one of the prime symbols of that age, and therefore, in an inexplicable manner, of the romance of the period. Kim loved the place, which was maintained by the Seabright Historical Union. Much of the old fortress was off-limits because it wasn’t safe. But troops in the uniforms of those bygone years were still marshaled twice daily in the main courtyard. The imperial quarters were also open to visitors, as were the art gallery and the library. Hox and her successors had commissioned much and stolen more. Today, it was all on display.
At the foot of Morghani, the ocean was restless. The surf pounded the rocks, gulls moved in everlasting circles, and along the stony beaches, children collected shells.
The cab crossed the face of the Black Hall and sailed in over the bay. Here, piers and docks pushed into the water, and warehouses lined the shore. Civilization had moved south after the wars, so the structures were crumbling and largely unattended. Some of them were built atop ruins that dated back half a millennium. Vandals and thieves had been at work for centuries, but teams of archeologists were now trying to retrieve details of everyday life during the age of the dictators.
The vehicle dropped low toward the water, skirted the shoreline moving west, and set down finally among a cluster of modular shelters beside a couple of battered flyers carrying the markings of the Seabright Historical Union. Kim opened the hatch and dropped down onto a surface of hard-packed clay and sparse grass. A damp, cold wind blew in off the sea.
Several people were working around the edges of an excavation pit, from which they’d hauled timbers and broken concrete and steel beams. A couple of the males looked up, appraised her, and exchanged approving glances.
A young man, probably a graduate student, had been brushing earth from a piece of electronic equipment. He broke off and came over. “May I help you, ma’am?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Dr. Kane,” said Kim.
He punched a button on his link. “Tora,” he said, “you have a visitor.”
A female voice responded: “Be right there.” Moments later a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and coveralls came out of one of the shelters and walked toward her. The grad student accepted Kim’s thanks and went back to his brush.
“Dr. Brandywine?” the woman asked, holding out a hand. “I’m Tora Kane.” The hat, Kim noticed, carried a Glory logo. Tora followed her gaze. “The Arbuckle,” she said.
The Arbuckle was a freighter that had gone down on Glory almost five centuries earlier, making it one of the oldest artifacts in the system. Kim knew that the crash site was a preserve, and that only certified scholars were allowed to go near it.
Tora was about Kim’s height, with auburn hair drawn back, full lips, full breasts pressing against the coveralls. She had her father’s dark, intense eyes. Looking into them, Kim could almost focus down, eliminate everything else, and believe she was seeing the old starship captain. “I appreciate your making time to talk to me,” she said, taking the outstretched hand.
“My pleasure.” Tora glanced from Kim to the taxi. “Have I won something?”
A gust of wind blew across them. “
I was wondering if I could ask some questions about your father,” said Kim.
“Ah,” she said, as if she should have realized. “May I ask what your interest is?”
“Emily Brandywine was my sister.”
Muscles worked in her throat. “I should have recognized the name. And the face.”
“I’d like very much to find out what happened to her.”
“Of course.” Tora turned back toward the bay entrance and Kim could not see her expression. “I wish I could help. But I just don’t know anything. When they came back on the Hunter, my father stayed on board to see to the entry procedures. The other three got off, and he never saw them again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but may I ask how?”
“Because he told me. Don’t you think he was upset by it all? Everything happened at the same time, the disaster at the village, the loss of Tripley, the missing women.” The wind tried to push them toward the excavation. “Why don’t you send the cab away and come inside?” she said.
Kim did and Tora led the way back to the shelter. “It’s not very comfortable,” she observed, “but it’s out of the cold.” She opened the door, and Kim stepped into a flow of warm air.
It was musty and cramped. One room plus a washroom. Maps of the waterfront area covered the walls. Two tables were stacked with jars, electrical artifacts, coins, tools, candles, toys, small pieces of statuary. “How’s it going?” asked Kim.
“Not bad. We think we’ve uncovered Gabrielli’s private residence.”
“Gabrielli?”
“One of Hox’s advisors. If it’s true, we may finally be able to find out why they had Rentzler murdered. Well, you don’t care about that.” She held a heated cloth to her face, offered one to Kim, and sat down in a canvas chair. “Kim,” she said, her tone suddenly regretful, “we all lost people in that business. I won’t pretend that what happened to my father and me compares to losing your sister the way you did, but his life disintegrated too.”
“In what way?”
“A lot of people were dead. There was talk about antimatter. Everybody else who’d been on the mission vanished. It all sounded like a conspiracy. And people like to have someone to blame. He was the only one left alive, at least the only one they could find. So they blamed him.”
“It doesn’t appear in the record.”
“His friends got cold. People he’d known for years backed away from him, looked the other way when they met on the street. Some tried to get up a lawsuit but there was no proof. Eventually he left the valley, but it followed him. Forgive me, but people like you would show up asking questions. No accusations, but the implications were always there.
“My father was a decent man, Kim. He’d never hurt anybody, and he wouldn’t have been part of any of the things that were being talked about.”
“Like stealing fuel cells.”
“Yes. Like stealing fuel cells.” Tora got up, poured a couple of cups of coffee, and held one out to Kim. “I’m afraid I just don’t know anything that would help.”
Two people came in, got introduced, went back out. Kim said: “You don’t think there’s any connection between the return of the Hunter and the Mount Hope event?”
“I don’t. I can understand why people want to tie them together. But they checked the Hunter. All the antimatter that should have been there was there. Everybody forgets that. My father did nothing wrong. He had everything he wanted in life. He had no reason to steal fuel cells. Or anything else.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“I don’t have a theory. I know my father was ruined by it all. He never piloted another ship. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” she said. “I did.”
“With Tripley dead, the Foundation halted its flights, and nobody else would hire him. Oh, they didn’t mention Mount Hope. Just don’t need any captains right now, thank you.
“Look, Kim, I know it hurts. But if you want my advice, let go.”
“You had a call from Dr. Flexner, Kim.”
She took off her jacket and dropped it over the sofa. “Okay, Shep. See if you can reach him.”
“It was just a few minutes ago. He was in his office.”
She picked up a glass of apple juice and slipped into her commchair.
“He seemed upset,” Shepard added.
“In what way?”
“Irritable. Angry. Anyway, we have a connection.”
The walls vanished and she was sitting in Matt’s office. He did indeed look a trifle mussed. “Hi, Matt,” she said.
“Hello, Kim.” He was seated behind his desk, writing. “I’ve got a question for you,” he said, not looking up but putting the pen down.
“Go ahead.”
Now his eyes rose to meet hers. “What did you do to Benton Tripley?”
“What do you mean?”
“I got called in by Phil this morning. He apparently got a call from Tripley. Tripley is in a rage.”
“Why?”
“It wasn’t exactly clear why. But it has to do with you. When you were making the presentation, did you ask him about the Mount Hope incident?”
“We talked about it.”
“Did you imply that his father was involved in criminal activity?”
She tried to remember the conversations. “No,” she said. “Why would I do something like that?”
“That was going to be my question.”
“It didn’t happen.”
“Good. Because whatever benefit we got from giving him the Morton Cable Award, we’ve more than lost.”
“Matt—”
“Did you really break into his house?”
“No!”
“He says you did.”
Kim felt her temper rising. Take a deep breath and don’t lose control. “I looked at the property in the Severin Valley. But it’s not his place anymore. That whole area’s abandoned.”
“Are you sure about the details? Did you check out the ownership before you went in?”
“No—”
“That’s what I thought. The director had to apologize to him this morning.”
“Apologize?” Tripley’s image took shape in her mind. He was smiling. “What for? Whatever the paperwork says, the place is abandoned.”
“Tripley thinks the Institute’s sticking its nose into his business.” Matt sighed. “Kim, we’ve assured him there’s a misunderstanding somewhere, and that the matter is ended. I don’t know what this is all about. But it is ended, right?”
“Matt, this is something I’ve been doing on my own.”
“No, Kim. You don’t do anything on your own. You’re a representative of the Institute. For God’s sake, you speak for us a couple of times a week.” His gaze hardened. “You will back away and not go near any of this again. Do you understand?”
She returned his stare. “Matt, I talked to one of the Interstellar technicians yesterday. About the repairs made on the Hunter after they came back. He lied to me.”
“How do you know?”
“I could see it in his face.”
“Good. That’ll hold up if anybody questions you—”
“Listen, if there’s nothing to any of this, why is Tripley so bent out of shape? What’s he hiding?”
“That’s easy. A lot of people died out there. In the explosion. If it were to be shown that his father was in some way liable, there’d be a hundred lawsuits against the estate.”
“After all these years?”
“I’m not a lawyer. But, yeah, I’d say he stands to lose quite a lot if you were to find something that makes his father culpable.”
Somebody apparently entered the office. The interruption was behind her, so she couldn’t see who it was. But Matt glowered over her shoulder at the visitor. She heard the door shut, and his attention returned to her. “Matt, I don’t see how I can just walk away from this.”
He cleared his th
roat. “Kim, I have a pretty good idea what this means to you—”
“Matt, you have no idea what it means to me—”
“All right. I’m sorry. I hear what you’re saying. But the problem is there’s no proof anywhere to support an investigation. All that’s going to happen if you persist is that the Institute will get burned, you’ll wind up out on the street, and nothing will have been accomplished.”
She took a minute to get control of her voice. “How do we get evidence if we don’t look?”
He looked pained. “I don’t know, Kim. But you have to realize that you represent the Institute. Round-the-clock. Whatever you do reflects on us.” He braced both elbows on his desk and set his chin atop his clasped hands. “I understand that we’re not being fair to you. But you have to understand there’s just too much at stake.”
“Money.”
“A lot of money.”
She let her eyes close. “Anything else?”
“No. That’s about it.”
“Thanks,” she said. And broke the connection. Her living room re-formed around her. She got up, retrieved the jacket, and walked out onto the deck.
The sea looked cold and gray.
9
O come with me to the misty veils
Beyond the sunset, west of St. Johns….
—CRES VILLARD, West of St. Johns, 487
The big push at the Institute was to lay out a strategy for exploiting interest in Beacon. Matt had already arranged interviews with the crew of the Trent. It was awkward because the hypercomm signals required time to make the round-trip. Journalists had, in effect, to submit their questions and come back the next day for the answers. So much for spontaneity, or for playing off a scientist’s response and letting it lead naturally to the next question.
Consequently nobody really wanted to talk to the Trent crew. No one from the media had accompanied the mission, because travel time was excessive and it just wasn’t perceived as that big a story. It was too far away. And nobody took celestials seriously anymore. The interest was not generated by the reason for the experiment, but by the fact that we had demonstrated we could trigger a nova.
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