So they would take the microship back to Greenway and examine it themselves. And in the meantime they hoped that maybe one of them would think of a way out of the frightful dilemma into which they had sunk.
The strategy required that Emily be left behind, since there was no way to explain her death. It was Tripley who devised the plan that they would “return” her to Terminal City, book a hotel reservation for her, use her ID to create the illusion that she’d gotten into a cab, and let the authorities figure out why she never arrived.
Having laid out their course, their last action before leaving orbit was to consign Emily to the void.
All this was on the record, as if Kane wanted to make it available to some future—What? Historian? Judge?
The logs ended immediately after the burial service. The screen went blank and the power blinked off.
Kim sat in the lengthening shadows listening to the ocean.
“Kim, you have a call from Canon Woodbridge.”
“Put him on, Shep.”
Actually, she got an assistant, a young male with a somber, self-important manner. “Dr. Brandywine?”
“Yes? This is she.” If he gave his name she missed it.
“Dr. Woodbridge wishes you to come to Salonika tomorrow. He asked me to express his regrets that he couldn’t call you himself, but he’s extremely busy.”
“Why?” she asked.
“He’s always quite busy, Doctor.”
“I mean, why does he want me in the capital?”
“I believe it’s an award ceremony of some sort. He’s quite anxious that you be here.”
“You can’t tell me what it’s about?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t have details. But transportation’s been arranged. You’ll be picked up at nine tomorrow morning. I hope that’s not inconvenient.”
Ten minutes later, Shep reported another call. “Tora Kane.”
Kim sighed. She was on the sofa, trying unsuccessfully to read the latest issue of Cosmic, and she was not in the mood for more hostility. Nevertheless she straightened herself and told Shepard to make the connection.
“Brandywine,” said Tora. The woman was difficult.
“Hello,” said Kim.
The archeologist was standing beside an antique vase. “Would I be correct in concluding,” she said, “that it was you I saw at the Mighty Third yesterday?”
“I don’t think so,” Kim said.
“Please don’t waste my time. I’m not stupid.”
Kim shrugged.
“I warned him it was a bad place to leave them,” she said.
Was she talking about her father? Or Mikel? “What exactly,” asked Kim, “do you want?”
“I have an instruction to carry out.” She looked at Kim the way one might look at a beetle.
“An instruction? From whom?”
“From Markis.”
“Oh?”
“First I need to be sure I have the right person. Did you, or did you not, steal something from the museum yesterday?”
“Just a moment.” Kim cut the sound. “Shep,” she said, “are we being recorded at the other end?”
He needed a moment to run a sweep. “No,” he said.
“If she starts to record,” Kim said, “cut us off immediately.”
“I’ll do that, Kim.”
“Give me the sound again.”
Tora gazed at her from under half-lowered lids. “I hope you feel safe enough now to tell me the truth.”
“I have the logs,” said Kim.
“There’s something else you should see.”
“What?”
“Come tomorrow evening. At seven.”
“You can’t tell me what it is?”
She blinked off.
A government flyer touched down on Kim’s pad at precisely nine A.M. She got in, showed her ID to the dex, and the vehicle lifted off and headed northwest through a sky heavy with rainstorms.
She was exhausted. The images from the Hunter’s cargo bay had given her no rest. She kept seeing Emily’s eyes, and Tripley’s mad dash to seize the Valiant.
What should she do now?
It seemed simple enough: release the news. It would be a huge story, and while the Hunter crew wouldn’t emerge covered with glory, at least some of the suspicions of foul play would dissipate. But she couldn’t do that without also divulging that a contact had been made. And that would violate the understanding she had with Woodbridge.
If people found out, there’d be no holding them back. Everybody with access to a ship would be headed for Alnitak. Where they’d encounter what? A species made hostile by the apparent hijacking of one of their ships?
The flyer dropped onto a rooftop pad at the National Security Center. By then rain was falling heavily. The vehicle taxied into one of the shelters and Kim found a young female escort waiting for her.
She was taken down several floors and shown into a small office. Moments later a door opened and Woodbridge appeared. He shook her hand, asked whether everything was going well at the Institute. Before she had a chance to answer, an assistant looked in and told him they were ready. “Good,” Woodbridge said. Showing no interest whatsoever in conditions at the Institute, he led the way across a corridor into a conference room where roughly twenty people were milling about. It was a festive occasion. Cheeses, pastry, and wine had been laid out. Woodbridge began introducing her to the room’s occupants—all seemed to have titles, Director This and Commissioner That—when a side door opened and everyone fell silent. The few who were not already on their feet rose.
Kim couldn’t see who was coming in, but she heard voices just outside in the corridor and then the commotion was in the room and she saw that it was Talbott Edward, one of the members of the Council. He strode to the front, while people made way on both sides, and took his position behind a lectern. He waited for everyone to find a seat.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “It’s good to see you all again. I don’t get up here often enough.” Edward was tall, extraordinarily thin, immaculately groomed. He wore bracelets on both wrists, and his gaze had the quality of reflecting from his aides and guests, as if he didn’t quite see anyone around him.
“Today I have an especially gratifying task to perform.” He looked out over his audience, picked out Kim, and seemed to recognize her. Did recognize her, probably, she decided, because he was searching out the young woman seated beside Woodbridge. “Dr. Brandywine, would you come up here, please? And Canon, you too.”
He welcomed her with a hearty handshake, his glance meanwhile returned upward. He smiled at Woodbridge, and proceeded to go on for several minutes about the advances of science and technology and how important it was that the Republic remain at the forefront of scientific research.
“Periodically, we at the Progress Directorate like to take time to honor the people who lead the charge.” He seemed to think that was an especially telling phrase, because he delivered it again. “—Who lead the charge into the future. Today we want to express our appreciation to Dr. Kimberly Brandywine, for special contributions in the field of cosmology.” Woodbridge produced a small white box and held it out to him.
Edward took the box, opened it, and extracted a silver medal with a red ribbon, which he held so the audience could see. “The Brays Stilwell Award for Special Achievement,” he said. His hand moved in a graceful arc ending at her lapel, to which he affixed the medal. “Congratulations.” He shook her hand, and shook Woodbridge’s hand.
Kim had never heard of the Brays Stilwell. She said thanks, felt a rush of gratitude, and smiled at Woodbridge and at the Councilor.
Edward told her he knew she would continue her fine work. Then he shook a few more hands, glanced at the time, and disappeared.
The people in the audience approached her to look at the award and wish her well. “It’s nice,” she told Woodbridge. “Thank you.”
“It’s really quite a high honor,” he said. “The highest we can give. But nobody’ll
ever really know why you got it. Except you, me, the councilman, and a few staff people.”
She wasn’t sure herself why she’d gotten it.
He put his hands on her shoulders, as if he were sending her off to battle. “Now, can I talk you into having lunch with me?”
It had just begun to get dark when Kim arrived at Tora Kane’s home. Tora was standing at the pad, sipping a drink, when the taxi touched down and Kim stepped out. “Good evening, Brandywine,” she said.
Kim nodded and looked at the cab. “Should I have it wait?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.”
It was a pleasant evening toward the end of April, just after sunset. The air was filled with the scent of the woods. A pair of squirrels stopped chasing each other around the bole of an ancient oak to watch the two women.
They climbed onto the porch and Tora invited Kim to sit down. She picked out a rickety wooden chair; Tora took the swing. There was a pitcher and an extra glass on a side table. “Blue riggers,” said her hostess. “Would you like one?”
“Thank you,” Kim said, determined to avoid returning the woman’s surliness.
Tora filled a glass and held it out for her. “How did you find out where they were?”
“The logs?” Kim shrugged. “It seemed like a place that would have appealed to him.”
“Hidden in a museum? On public display? Oh yes, he liked that.”
The blue rigger was quite good.
Kim met her eyes. “You knew all along, didn’t you? You knew what happened on the Hunter.”
“Yes,” she said. “I knew.”
“You’ve seen the logs?”
“No.” She put her drink down. Rocked back and forth. Stared into the growing dusk. “No. I had no wish to see the gory details. But I knew what happened. He was tortured by it.”
“What about Mount Hope? What’s the rest of the story?”
She opened a drawer on the side table and took out a disk. “He knew that somebody would eventually do what you have done, somebody would get at least part of the truth. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been somebody else.” A lamp burned inside the window. “My instructions were that, if the logs were found, this statement should be made available to the authorities. That’s not you, but it seems that you’re the logical person to receive it nonetheless.”
Kim took it. “Do you want to watch it?”
“I’ve seen it.”
Kim slipped it into a jacket pocket. “You should be aware that I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll make any of this public.”
She shrugged. “Make it public and be damned.”
Kim got up and turned to go.
Tora stayed on the swing. “You should be aware,” she said, “that what you have is a copy. No part of the Hunter story is to be made public unless all of it is. If you don’t see to it, I will.”
When she got home, Kim put it on the flat screen.
The first image was the Valiant. A timer in the lower right hand corner gave the date April 3, 573, 6:48 P.M. The Mount Hope explosion, she recalled, had occurred on that same date at a little after seven o’clock in the evening.
The Valiant was on a table. It was bathed in light, and she could see part of a device that looked like a sensor suspended overhead. She couldn’t make out anything else, but the table looked like the one she’d seen in Tripley’s basement lab.
An arm came into the picture, adjusted the sensor. And she heard Kile’s voice: “How’s that, Yosh?” The arm was in a white sleeve. It withdrew, and Kim could see nothing except the microship and the tabletop.
“That’s good. That’ll do it.”
And Kile again: “Markis, we’re ready to start.”
“Be right down.”
The timer continued to run.
“Ready?” asked Tripley.
Yoshi again: “All set.” Then her voice going higher: “Hey, Kile, what’s that?”
Kim saw nothing.
“Not sure.” The arm came back, went behind the ship on the port side, and blocked the imager’s view. “Hey, we’ve got an open hatch!”
The table and the ship rippled.
Mist rose from a dozen places on the Valiant, as if the spacecraft were venting.
The arm jerked away.
And now the voices became confused.
“What is that?”
“They’re not dead.”
“My God, Kile, stay away from it.”
“Get upstairs!”
The lighting changed abruptly, as if a curtain had passed in front of a lamp. And something that looked like an oversized dragonfly appeared from behind the ship and glided out of the picture.
Kile screamed for Yoshi to look out, and then Kim heard more shouts, but nothing from Yoshi. Someone heavy—Tripley, it must have been—ran across the floor and pounded up the staircase. There were more cries, some now coming from Kane, and she heard a sickening crunch, the sound of flesh impacting and bones breaking.
Yoshi.
Now the heavy steps came back downstairs. Kim understood that Yoshi had fallen or been pushed off the stairway, that Tripley was trying to do something for her, and then he was swearing he would kill the bastards—those were his words—and he hurried back up the stairs and out of the laboratory.
The Valiant remained untouched on the table until the record stopped.
A new image appeared: Markis Kane in a black, loose-fitting shirt. The date advanced to August 11, 575. More than two years later.
Lines had appeared in his face, and for several seconds he merely stared out of the screen. Kim thought he appeared unsure of himself. Not at all the Kane she’d come to know.
“I have no way of knowing,” he said, “who will hear this account of the Hunter, and of the destruction of Severin Village. We are all culpable, everyone who was on the mission. For the sake of the others, and perhaps for my own reputation, I would have preferred these events continue as they have, one unremarked, the other unexplained. But I must assume that the listener knows enough that the rest should be made clear.
“Let me admit at the outset that the primary responsibility for the disaster that overtook Severin Village on April 3, 573, is mine. I consented against my better judgment to the seizure of the celestial vessel. I suggested and executed the tactic for bringing it aboard ship, an act which resulted directly in the death of Emily Brandywine. I further failed to dissuade Kile Tripley in his intention to bring the vessel to Greenway, even though I knew there was a potential for precisely the kind of disaster that occurred. That I have not stepped forward and acknowledged these facts has been dishonorable. I hope, before the truth emerges, as it surely must, I will be safely dead, beyond the grip of public opprobrium, or of any but divine justice.
“There was no indication of life aboard the celestial at any time after we had taken it onboard. We assumed that Kile’s attack on the vessel had killed whatever had been inside. We had mixed emotions about that. It was not the way one wants first contact to occur. But they had, after all, taken Emily’s life.
“Kile’s intention was to keep the discovery secret for a time, and to bring in a few discreet researchers. He planned to use one of several laboratories available to the Foundation, for the purpose of dissecting the artifact and retrieving its secrets. But the problem was that the laboratories were all located in heavily populated areas.
“We did not know how the vessel was powered. But we thought it wise to assume it used the only fuel we knew of that made entry into transdimensional space possible: antimatter. That presented us with a unique problem. If they did indeed use antimatter, there was always the possibility of a breach in the containment system. Should that happen, should its power reach so low a level that it could not maintain the magnetic bottle, the vessel would explode, and take us and a sizable portion of the neighborhood with it. Consequently we needed a lab in a remote location.
“I should add parenthetically that we felt we had time, since every test we had run indicated that power
was flowing through the ship, and that maintenance systems did seem to be stable. Of course, as the event showed, much of this was guesswork.
“To reduce the danger, Kile decided that the Foundation would sponsor a lab on Shimmer, where an accident could harm no one except volunteer technicians. A hypercomm message was sent before we left Alnitak, directing that work be started immediately. Nevertheless, it would be several months before the facility could be ready.
“In my own defense, I should point out that I argued throughout that the artifact be left in orbit around one of the Jovians in the Helian system, where there could be no danger to anyone. But it was too much to ask of Kile, who was anxious to get to a place where they would have the capability to inspect the find. At the very least, he maintained, the bodies of the crew had to be examined as quickly as possible.
“Kile elected to take it to his summer home in Severin. It was a compromise choice, with less potential for disaster than there would have been in, say, Terminal City or Marathon. At the time, it seemed not unreasonable.
“I believed the chances for a catastrophe were slight, though what evidence I based that on I cannot now conceive. We thought, given a few days, we could determine the nature of the fuel and the state of any containment system. Unfortunately, we were not given a few days.
“We had no difficulty getting the artifact past the customs people. Yoshi walked it through, describing it as a toy for a nephew. She gave it a modest value, and was told it fell within her exemption.
“We took the artifact to Kile’s home, where it turned out that the equipment he had available for analysis was considerably less than he’d implied. We had to go out looking for almost everything we needed. The result was that we wasted the little time we had. For example, we needed a full day simply to locate a Vanover sensor, which would allow us to look into the interior.
“I’m not altogether certain of some specifics regarding the events of April 3, because I was upstairs when I first realized there was a problem. Kile and Yoshi were down in the lab and they started screaming. I ran for the stairs and saw Yoshi coming up. She was scared out of her wits.
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