Infinity Beach

by Jack McDevitt

  “Doesn’t matter,” Matt said. “A lot of people put their life’s work into Beacon. And it was a moneymaker for us. Nobody knows that better than you. And the general public doesn’t know it’s redundant. They think it failed in some way.”

  When Emily’s body was released, Kim arranged a memorial service.

  They held the ceremony on a beautiful April afternoon, under a quiet sky. Kim selected a grove not far from the Institute for the service, and the place filled with friends and family. The Sea Knights came out and stood by her, asked how she was, and offered their condolences.

  Two days later, a similar event was held for Solly.

  The second memorial was conducted on a windswept hillside near the ocean. Solly’s family was there, mostly people she’d never seen before. The Sea Knights returned and gathered beneath a flapping banner that carried their insignia, a trident on a white field. The Institute turned out in force. Even Agostino showed up.

  Solly’s friends, as custom directed, came forward to talk about him. Others simply stood, wiping their eyes.

  The wind blew off the ocean. A composer whom Solly had once carried from Earth, and whom he’d befriended, had written a score, “Though Tomorrow Never Come,” for the occasion. He’d brought along a vocalist to perform it, and Kim stood listening while tears ran down her face.

  Eventually, as she knew would happen, her name came up.

  Solly’s brother pointed her out, standing with the Knights. “Kim Brandywine,” he said, “the young lady for whom Solly gave his life.” They all looked her way, expectantly. “Kim,” he added, “why don’t you come on up and say a few words.”

  She’d hoped to be left quietly to herself. But this had been unavoidable, the least she could do, and she’d prepared. She had taken a trank to try to hold herself together, but it seemed to have done nothing to assuage the grief and loss, so her mind went blank and she forgot the lines she’d memorized, and instead talked in a halting tone, on automatic, uttering banal phrases which the wind blew away.

  “—Most selfless man I’ve known—” She could see a sail receding on the horizon and it seemed less real than the seascapes she’d seen in the windows of the Hammersmith, with Solly at her side.

  The sun was bright and the sky empty. “—I would not be here today—”

  She fought back the tears and, at the end, her voice rose over the wind. “God help me, I loved him—” A pair of gulls soared over the surf.

  And she heard a child’s voice up front: “Then why’d she leave him, Mommy?”

  When she finished the brother thanked her politely, took a few more speakers, announced that refreshments were available in the south pavilion, and drew the ceremony to a close.

  Kim stood for several minutes, unable to leave. Several of the Knights came over to talk to her and wish her well. Then she was startled by a glimpse of Solly’s perceptive blue eyes. They belonged to a young woman with long dark hair.

  “I’m Patricia Case,” she said. “Solly’s sister. I just wanted to get a good look at you.” She bit the words off like pieces of ice, fought to hold back tears, and stalked away.

  It was the only time in her life Kim could recall seeing naked contempt directed at her. “It’s not what you think,” she called after the woman. “It wasn’t like that—”

  The media portrayed her in a similar light: a helpless passenger on a scientific research mission who’d needed rescuing when, shortly after emerging from hyperspace, the engines had run wild.

  She received requests for interviews, guest spots on several panel shows, and lucrative offers for exclusive accounts of events on the Hammersmith. All of which she declined.

  Ben Tripley had left a message for her at home. She ran it and was surprised when he looked at her sadly and only wished her well. Her heart sank. She had expected him to take her to task for destroying his father’s reputation, to point out he’d warned her something very much like this would happen. But he avoided the recriminations and only said he understood this was hard on everybody. And he expressed his regrets for Emily. “I don’t know what happened,” he said, “I can’t imagine what happened. But I’m sorry. I wish it could have been otherwise.”

  How could she respond? You were right all the time? I don’t know what happened either, and maybe your father is completely innocent, but the damage is done. Maybe if your father and Kane had spoken up when they came home about whatever occurred out there, everything would have been okay. It’s not my fault.

  After a long time she recorded a message, thanking him, telling him she was confident that when the investigation was complete, his father would be vindicated. She watched it through, decided it was a disaster, and deleted it.

  She delayed calling Sheyel because once again she didn’t know what to say. She had no appetite for lying to him, but her agreement with Canon Woodbridge prevented disclosure. Still, she needed to talk to someone, and Sheyel seemed to be the only person left.

  She punched in his code. Moments later his dragon chair appeared, and then he walked into the image and eased himself into it. “Kim,” he said. “It’s good to see you.” He wore a dark brown robe.

  They exchanged pleasantries, although she could see he was anxious to hear about the flight of the Hammersmith. He looked more pale and drawn than when she’d seen him last. He was losing ground.

  “I can’t tell you much,” she said. “I just wanted you to know I’m okay.”

  “I understand.” His silver hair and beard had become straggly. She suspected he hadn’t adjusted well to the news about Yoshi. “You lost a friend,” he said.

  “Solly Hobbs. Yes.”

  “I read what he did. Such friends are rare.” He reached beside him and picked up a cup. Steam was rising from it. “What will you do now?”

  Good question.

  “I think I owe Ben Tripley an apology,” she said.

  “When are you going to do that?”

  “Maybe tomorrow if I can get an appointment.”

  “You’re going up there personally?”

  “Yeah. I think I should. Anyway I want to get a closer look at the Valiant.”

  “The Valiant?”

  She hadn’t meant to say that. But what the hell, he already knew. “The ship in the mural,” she prompted. “You remember the model?”

  “Oh yes,” he said. “How could I forget?” There was, she thought, something very strange in his eyes, but she let it go. Probably the light.

  She got through to Tripley’s secretary, who said she could make room for her next afternoon toward the end of the day. Kim consented, and put in a call to Tora Kane.

  Tora came right on. Strictly audio. “Yes, Kimberly. What did you want?”

  The key to the Hunter logs, Kim thought, had to lie with the captain’s daughter. There was no one else.

  “I wanted to apologize,” she said. “I know this has been a difficult time.”

  “I really needed somebody to explain that to me.” She paused, and Kim could hear the ocean in the background. “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes. I wanted you to know that I don’t believe your father’s in any way responsible for the deaths.”

  “That comes a little late.” Her fury was barely restrained. “You’ve ruined his name. You know that, don’t you? You’ve destroyed him.” With no warning her voice broke. She swallowed, waited, took a deep breath. “Everything he lived for, everything he did, it’s all gone now. And what they’re saying about him is a lie.”

  “Maybe we can get to the truth.”

  “Sure we can. You want truth? Stop by the museum and take a look.” The voice was pure venom. “Anything else?”

  Yes! Where are the Hunter logs? “Do you have anything, access to anything, that might show us what really happened on the mission?”

  She paused. Kim wished she could see the woman’s face. “No,” she said at last. But the hesitation put the lie to it.

  “Tora,” said Kim, “I can’t do this without yo
ur help.”

  “Do me a favor, Doctor,” she said. “Don’t do anything, okay? I just don’t need any more of your help.” She broke the connection.

  Kim walked over to the window and looked out at the sea.

  She knows.

  “Shep?”

  “Yes, Kim.”

  “I want to talk to Solly. How long will it take to—?”

  “Acquire the data and assemble the psyche? Not long. And you’ll need to fill me in on the details of the mission. But I do not advise the procedure.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  “Kim, you’ve often advised against—”

  “How long, Shep?”

  “I won’t know until I see what’s available. If there is online access, you can speak with him tonight.”

  An hour later she went up the front steps into the Mighty Third Memorial Museum.

  It required no shrewdness to guess what she’d find: Another hero from the battle of Armagon had replaced Markis Kane. The attack on the Hammurabi was no longer on display. The glass case which had sheltered artifacts from the 376 was empty. Signs indicated that a new exhibition, describing the exploits of fleet physicians, was being prepared.

  Even the pictures of Kane helping the museum staff assemble the display were gone.

  She went looking for Mikel and found him conducting VIPs through a simulator designed to re-create an attack run against a capital ship in a laser boat. He saw her and signaled her to wait in his office. But she returned to the empty case. She was still standing there fifteen minutes later when he joined her. “I’m glad you’re well,” he said. “It must have been a terrible experience.”

  “It wasn’t good, Mikel.” She watched him sit down, not behind his desk, but on a divan.

  “Can we get you something?” he asked. “Coffee, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “Mikel, what happened to the Kane display?”

  “We removed it.”

  “I see that. May I ask why?”

  His eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. You of all people. The man’s a killer. What would you expect me to do?”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Either he’s a killer or he protected Tripley after he did it. The details don’t much matter.” He looked at her accusingly. “I’m surprised that you would object. I mean, that was your sister they threw out the air lock. I’d have thought you’d be pleased we took down the display.”

  “We don’t know yet what really happened out there.”

  “Kim.” His voice acquired its bureaucratic tone. “I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand your attitude in this. Kane’s guilty of something, possibly murder, aiding and abetting at the very least, and everybody knows it.”

  She pushed her hands into her pockets and looked through the office window at the exhibit, at the images of warships, the pictures of the captains. Off to her left a theater was running a recreation of Armagon.

  “Children come in here,” Mikel continued. “How would it look to have a tribute to a killer?”

  “Mikel,” she said, “when the truth comes out, I think you’re going to be embarrassed.”

  He looked bored. “It’s hard to see how that could be. How many people were on the ship? But, okay, if I’m wrong, and it turns out that somehow or other he’s innocent, we’ll just put everything back up and no harm done.”

  “No harm done.”

  “Kim, do you know something I don’t?”

  “No,” she said.

  He took a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t want this. It was terrible news, learning about Emily. I really didn’t know much about Kile Tripley. But Kane—We don’t have many heroes. We couldn’t afford to lose one. Not this one, especially.”

  “Then don’t give up on him.”

  “Hello, Solly.”

  He wore a green shirt, open at the neck; dark blue slacks; and the peaked cap that he usually affected when they were out sailing. Shep had given him his captain’s chair from the yacht. “Hi, Kim. It’s good to see you.”

  Tears started immediately to run down her cheeks. She knew, had known all along, that this wasn’t a good idea. Still, psychoanalysts maintained this was the best kind of therapy after an unexpected loss. If one didn’t go too far. “I hate what you did,” she said.

  “There was no point in our both getting killed.” He smiled, and Shep had it exactly right. “How are you making out?”

  “I’ve been better.” She gazed at him, wishing she could will him back. Seize the image, hold him, never let go. It seemed somehow as if it should be easy. As if she could just reach across the room and snatch him into the world.

  “How are they responding to the news you brought back? When’s the parade?”

  “We’re keeping it quiet. I’ve talked to Woodbridge. He’s concerned about the possibility of other people going out there.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “If I had my way, I’d try to find out where the sons of bitches are from, and I’d send the fleet after them.”

  “That doesn’t sound much like the peace-loving Kim Brandywine I’ve always known.”

  “I don’t feel very peace-loving. They killed Emily. Killed you.” He was nodding, agreeing. “Solly, they’ve taken everything I ever cared about.”

  “Not everything. That’s an overreaction—”

  “How can you say that—?”

  “Because you have a long future waiting for you. I’m sorry I won’t be around to share it. But we took our chances and it didn’t work out the way it was supposed to.” He rearranged his cap at a rakish angle. “What did Woodbridge have to say?”

  “He agreed they were dangerous and that we needed to avoid contact.”

  “Yeah. They’re dangerous. But listen. Kim—”

  “Yes.”

  “Woodbridge makes me uncomfortable. He’s a little too righteous.”

  “He’s okay.”

  “You didn’t tell him about the Archives, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Don’t.” He gazed at her for a long time. “What’s next?”

  “I want to try to set things right with Ben Tripley.”

  “You going out there?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “You disapprove?”

  “He’s a jerk. You don’t owe him anything.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  “Okay. But be careful around these people. Don’t trust any of them.”

  “Solly, Ben’s all right. He’s just wound a little tight. Anyhow, I feel guilty. Everybody thinks Kane and his father murdered Emily.”

  “Maybe they did. Who else was on that ship?”

  “I just don’t believe it.”

  “You know what you have to do, right?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Find the Hunter logs.”

  23

  Familiarity and invisibility are sides of the same coin.

  —OLAN KABEL, Reminiscences, 116

  The Valiant stood on its shelf, polished and brilliant. Its shining presence, and Tripley’s ignorance of its significance, amused her. A mean-spirited reaction, she thought, but nonetheless there it was.

  “I wasn’t sure,” she told him, “that you’d consent to see me.” They were alone in his office.

  He kept his emotions masked and his tone detached. “Why would I not, Kim?” He remained seated behind his desk, allowing her to stand.

  “I didn’t intend any of this to happen,” she said.

  “I know that.” He pushed back in his chair. “But we all know about good intentions. You destroyed my father’s reputation.” His voice remained flat. “He did not kill those people. He would never have harmed anyone.”

  “I believe that. I think something unexpected happened during the flight of the Hunter. Something that caused the tragedy.” She lowered herself into a chair. She’d rehearsed everything she’d planned to say, but it all disintegrated in the heat of his presence. “This is not
my fault,” she said.

  “I know. More or less, it isn’t. But there’s no help for it now. I know you didn’t act out of vindictiveness. I’d have preferred you listened to me at the start, when I tried to warn you what would happen. But—” He shrugged. “It’s a bit late now.”

  “Ben, there was no way I could not pursue this. It was a question of finding the truth.”

  “And did you find the truth, Kim?”

  Her eyes circled back to the Valiant. “Part of it.”

  “Part of it.” His intercom sounded. He broke off, listened, told the machine he’d take care of the matter later, and looked back at her. “What truth have you discovered?”

  What truth indeed? That the Valiant is a replica of the thing the Tripley mission encountered on the far side of St. Johns? That the Hunter was invaded by something unearthly?—How else explain what happened?—She was gazing at the Valiant as if it were a sacred object. “Tell me again where this came from,” she said.

  He looked at it, puzzled. “What has that to do with anything?”

  “Humor me, Ben.”

  He shrugged. “My grandmother gave it to me.”

  She got up and went over to it, looked at it, and ran her fingers across the shell. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  She picked it up and gazed casually at it. “I’d like to have one of these made up for my nephew.”

  He glanced at the spacecraft. “I can get you a sketch if you like.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “It is a lovely piece.”

  “I think I mentioned before it belonged originally to my father.”

  She nodded. “Your grandmother passed it along to you.”

  Muscles worked in his jaw. “That’s correct. I assume she told you that.”

  “I’m sorry about that, too,” she said.

  “It’s all right. You’ve caught me in a generous mood.” He softened. “Why the interest? Why do you care about it?”

  “Bear with me a moment and I’ll tell you.” She held it under a lamp, letting its polished gleam sink into her fingertips. “When you were a boy, did it bother you that it had no propulsion tubes? No main engines? No way to get from one place to another?”