“In that case I must hope you’re wrong.”
“Me too.”
Tafari and Noor arrived, which brought to an end the almost cozy, though vaguely adversarial, intimacy between Kal and Ogechi.
Ogechi said, “I’m tired. Do you need anything else from me now?”
“No.” Kal said. “I’ll let you know if I need to know more. Thanks for coming, Tafari. Could we talk now?”
Tafari looked startled. “We can do that.”
“Do you want me to sit with you?” Ogechi asked Tafari.
“That’s all right. I’ll call you if they’re too much for me.” He smiled. Ogechi took his hands in hers and they exchanged a long, silent look. Kal couldn’t tell what it communicated, only that there was some message being relayed.
“Let’s get to it,” he said as he seated himself. Ogechi passed out of the room with a nod.
They were all tired and Kal felt numb from all the talking and questioning and doubting she’d done over the many hours. Back on the bridge, after the interview with Tafari, she found Sasha in her chair, her face a blank.
Kal sat down next to her at the console. “You’re exhausted.”
Sasha leaned back and shook her head. “I’m all right. We’re on track for the second orbit of Sextant. Alignment looking good for the assist. No asteroid interference so far.”
“You should have a rest, if I may be so bold as to suggest it.”
“Watching old movies again,” Sasha said.
“I do now and then.”
“I’ll head to bed shortly,” Sasha said.
“Good.”
Sasha looked her over. “How are you, really, Kal?”
“Fine.” Kal smiled, though she feared it looked more like a grimace. “Really.”
“You shouldn’t lie.”
Sasha’s austere face was provoking.
“If you ask me how I am, I can lie sometimes. It’s polite. That’s how conversation works,” Kal said.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“No problem. It’s all temporary, anyway,” Kal said. She didn’t elaborate.
“Do you want to talk to Chyron?”
“No, I do not want to talk to Chyron!” Kal’s voice came out more vehement than she had intended. “I can do my job, don’t worry.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” Kal shifted restlessly. “There’s a lot going on.”
“Yes.”
The slight elongation of the s in yes got Kal’s attention.
Kal thought Sasha looked on the verge of apologizing, but she didn’t, for which Kal was grateful. She wanted her boss to be her boss, not someone who felt bad about Kal and worried about her feelings. Maybe they had forfeited that with what had happened between them.
“I’ll go to bed if you do,” Sasha said, then seemed to realize how it sounded. She cleared her throat and jumped out of her seat.
Seeing Sasha embarrassed was so startling and new, Kal had to look at her for a moment, before she rescued her with a forced, “Yes! Time for bed. To get some sleep.”
Sasha nodded and veered off toward the spiral down to her cabin. Kal took the lift. Not awkward. Not awkward at all.
I don’t know what to do, Gunn wrote in her journal in her secret code, which was Icelandic. I haven’t ever been unsure of my duty before. If I tell Captain Sarno, I know what’s likely to happen. If telling her is the right thing, but the consequences wouldn’t be right, what is the right thing to do? Too bad there’s not a real ethicist aboard.
It was time to do so many things.
Sasha knew she had to leave the past behind. She would have to leave Kal behind. Kal had to find her own way, without the interference of entanglements like this one. It would hinder her. It wasn’t fair. Sasha had used her; whether it saved them it had still been wrong. She didn’t let herself off the hook.
The invitation had been there for all of them to get off at Demeter and stay. One of the ships was scheduled to leave in a year, and a pilot on Demeter could return either ship to Saturn’s orbit, to pick up more travelers at the satellite way station soon to be under construction, if Sasha wanted to stay. Sasha didn’t want to settle and she didn’t think she’d be suited to it. Her whole career had been about getting herself to the position she was in right now. It wasn’t an unassailable one. She didn’t know where she was going or why sometimes, but she knew she’d worked to get here and she wasn’t going to jump off this ride.
After the gathering of evidence, Kal had reopened the park, the glade, all of it. She had collected as much physical evidence there as she could. There wouldn’t be a point any longer in keeping it closed, other than some kind of morbid respect for the shade of Yarick.
They would have to have some kind of ceremony for him. Sasha would have to check his documents to see what he had chosen for his method of over, as they referred to it in space. His choice would be limited, as all of theirs would be in the same situation. Not that anyone else would be murdered, hopefully. If Yarick had been murdered.
Sasha wasn’t sure what to hope for, anymore. Did she really still believe in the possibility it could be natural causes? After what had happened with Noor, after what they had seen in the holo, after what had happened to Yarick; how could she still believe?
It wasn’t like they could notify anyone now. Not in dark phase. A message back to Earth would take years, depending on if they could slingshot a message through the portal. It had been accomplished only once.
When Sasha thought about being back on board after the time off she would have on Demeter (not that it could be called time off on an unfamiliar planet), it was hard to imagine the crew without Kal. She would miss her as part of the team, unquestionably.
Life on Demeter. What would it entail? The biospheres were up and running, but only a few permanent structures. That was all to come. That was why the builders and architects and artists and conceptualizers were on their way; to align compatible life with Demeter, if possible.
And her life? What was her life going to be? The work she did stretched time like taffy. It became so much a habit, this jumping around in a timeline, cheating time, stretching and shrinking it with the discovery of the portals. It could make anyone feel invincible, but she didn’t have any illusions of beating it. Time would win in the end, no matter how many portals they cheated it with. Some of it always slipped through the fingers. And sometime she would be older. Rejuvenations, stem cell renewal, whole blood invigoration, radiation tuning, DNA reintegration—there were a lot of options, these days, for making yourself over. There was no reason why she couldn’t work into her ninth, tenth, or eleventh decade, if she wanted to. But did she want to?
She had never seriously considered this question before, because she had always thought only about work, about now. Building her life into something inviolable and strong. Her work was something unto itself, separate from her personal self, even though that didn’t make absolute sense. Her work was her creation. She had built it. She could dismantle it.
The future she foresaw as a long and interesting journey. The more trips she took, the more time she’d skip through on Earth. Time would move a little bit faster for them than for her. The portals made up for a great deal of the time she would otherwise lose on Earth, and made it possible for her to see the people she knew on Earth again and again, instead of skipping through their lifetimes as her travel made earth time move quickly while her own moved slow. If she returned to Earth.
“Fucking Einstein,” she murmured.
What did she know? She knew a lot about space travel, a lot about reading people. She knew physics, she knew interplanetary exploration, she knew taking orders and in her turn giving them.
Maybe she didn’t know herself as well as she thought.
11
Protocol
Kal knew she had to talk to Gunnhildur. She didn’t want to. Gunn was gruff. Gunn did not suffer long conversations, or fools for that matter. Kal couldn’t
be sure Gunn didn’t consider her a fool. It didn’t matter. It was her job to question her, so she would.
Although Kal had planned to have the rest of the interviews in the Tube, as either a sop to Gunn’s natural habitat or a clever technique to get her to open up, Kal talked to her in the gymnasium. Gunn was re-racking weights from her workout, in action, as she was at her best.
“Did you see anything that morning that would clarify people’s movements in the vicinity of the park?”
Gunn stood up straight, dangling a barbell from one broad hand. “Around what time?”
“Nine to eleven twenty.”
Gunn appeared to like this precision. “By 8:30 I was in the gymnasium ready for my usual workout. It needs every day for us to use our bodies, so they do not disintegrate around us, in this little bit less than gravity. We need every day the strengthening. Some do not take this as seriously as others. They will know what they lost when we arrive.”
“I’m sure you’re right. What happened from then?”
“I proceeded to do my usual sets, my usual routine. Everyone knows this is what I do every day, twice a day. Anyway. It was mostly a normal workout, except for the physio of course.”
“I heard there was a problem with it.”
“Yes, Sif told me. She said Yarick broke the physio.”
“You don’t think he did?”
“Why didn’t he tell me himself?”
“Had you had interactions with him?”
“We’re on a very small ship, compared to a whole land or a whole planet. I don’t think any of us avoid another entirely.”
“Yarick did, the first part of the trip.”
Gunn grunted. “That’s true. One way of making a quiet place for yourself.”
“Did you like him?”
Gunn raised her eyebrows and put another weight firmly in its slot. “Nobody liked him.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I pay attention. You watch the people, what they do. Where they sit. They say more with their bodies than they do with their mouths.” She shrugged, which was a gesture of great power with someone of her shoulder breadth. “I watch these things.”
“Sounds like you’d be useful on my team,” Kal said, thinking out loud.
Gunn squinted at her. “Oh yes? If you need me, ask.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Kal was beginning to like Gunn. “Did you have any personal exchanges with him?”
She sniffed. “Yarick. All he wanted to do was lord his power and his wisdom and his knowledge over people. That isn’t personal. That is his obsession. He transacts. He doesn’t have personal.”
“How did he try to lord his power over you?” Kal was skeptical this was possible.
“Ha.” Gunn seemed to realize this was a ridiculous proposition.
“You knew each other, before?”
“From the Games. A while ago.”
Kal hadn’t know this.
“You were in the Games, too?” Kal knew Wei had been. There was a lot she didn’t know about these people she traveled with, on their little island. She felt a bit bad about it. Gunn had a story, a whole elaborate fascinating story, and Kal had been too intimidated by her physical appearance, even more so her demeanor, from asking her about it, or sharing her own. It was a missed opportunity. One she hoped she’d have a chance to rectify. Now she thought about it, she realized this job interviewing everyone on the ship had given her stronger connections to each one of them. She felt closer to everyone, even though, she reminded herself with a twinge, one of them might be a murderer. Would she be reduced to wanting Rai to be rogue?
She brought herself back to what Gunn was saying.
“I was in the program. He was part of the committee. So what. He liked to hang around, bring people to see the training, be a big shot.”
“Did you know Wei?”
“We were roommates in the Village.”
“You were?”
“She was my friend.”
“Not anymore?”
Gunn didn’t say anything. She looked sad, which was an unfamiliar and somehow terrifying thing to behold.
“Something happened?”
“I won. She didn’t.”
“That caused a rift?”
“There was political crap that happened. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t my fault. It was other people’s fault.”
“Yarick’s fault?”
Gunn looked her right in the eyes. Kal also wanted to ask her what sport she’d been in, but she didn’t want to do anything to rock this fragile connection. Now, with Gunn staring her down, she could feel her power as an opponent.
“There is no limit to what Yarick would do if he had the chance to exert his power. He liked to do it because he could.”
“Could he change results?”
Gunn looked away. “No. Only indirectly. It was said he manipulated performance times. That can be enough to make the difference.”
“Did he sabotage Wei?”
“I think so.”
“Did she think so?”
“We talked about it. It was common talk at the time.”
“Common talk? Was a protest registered?”
“If it was possible it would have been, by her country. They don’t take unfairness lying down. But in this case someone took common knowledge of Wei’s peak times and used it against her. It’s not illegal. It’s working something for an advantage.”
“He was on the committee. They shouldn’t have power over anything to do with how the individual games are ordered.”
“We couldn’t prove it. She blamed herself, said she should have been competitive no matter what crap time they gave her.” Gunn shrugged. “It’s true. But you work your way up through the ranks and earn those better times. It’s how it works in all the sports.”
“What about all the insiders, who would have known what that meant?”
Gunn smiled with bitterness. “As it happens, there was some resentment against Wei because she was a legacy. Her father had dominated the sport before her. There was some feeling their name had headlined the sport too long. They wanted to crown a new champion. They liked it that she failed for once. Her father was disappointed. It was a national tragedy, ridiculous as it might sound to you. She formally apologized to her people. Shame. That’s what consumed her.”
“What would Yarick’s motive have been in this?” Kal was careful to keep herself neutral. This story was easy to get caught up in. She had to remember not to jump on a side and show it. Her investigator sensibilities were creaky.
“Yarick? He was a fan of fencing going way back. He knew her father. He tried to get Wei to do exhibitions in the capitols for his half-percent halfwit friends. She wouldn’t. Wei never sold herself. Of course he wined and dined her, too, showing her off, before she saw through him.”
Kal sat with all this information for a depressing silent moment. Would this ever work its way out of their culture? Thank the Spirit he’s dead, she thought irreverently. He will not bring this poison to Demeter. May this spite die with him.
“That’s not all,” Gunn continued, her voice heavy. “She’s an artist too, as you know. All along she had her twin passions, like her father. Like her father, she was one of the best in the world in both. She didn’t have the endorsements after the Games because of the public shame of it all. She didn’t represent a winner anymore to her country. So, she didn’t have the money. Her father had some problems at the end of his life, which eroded what he had built. She wanted, after he died, to travel ex-planet more than anything. I told her about a grant for artists the Adlortok Consortium offered. She applied. It was a blind committee. She got the grant. And who was on the committee of three? Who was to thank for her great privilege?”
“Yarick.”
“Yarick,” Gunn said. “The beneficent. He giveth and he taketh away. And he giveth again.”
“So everyone knows who God is,” Kal said, despit
e herself.
Gunn gave her an approving chin bob. A lot of Gunn’s emotions were readable through the actions of her chin, Kal thought. Tucked, watch out. Jutted, also watch out. A jerk of approval, blessings.
“Wei hated him?”
There were no more weights to rack. With a swipe of her finger Gunn locked them down. Only she could use them or supervise their use. Gunn spread her hands out. “I don’t know. She didn’t like him. She resented his outsize influence on some of the major turning points of her life. Who blames her?”
“Not me,” Kal said levelly. “Unless she killed him.”
Gunn shook her head. She didn’t say anything. “I wouldn’t think she was capable of it. Crime of passion, maybe. Who can say, ‘I wouldn’t react when provoked’? Plotting out his murder?” She shook her head again, more vehemently. “I don’t think so.”
“Were you and Wei more than friends?” Kal asked, gritting her teeth with the necessity of it.
Gunn raised her eyebrows. “Eh? Wei and me? No.”
“Thank you, Gunnhildur,” Kal said. She had been so much more forthcoming than Kal had expected.
“Don’t steer wrong,” Gunn said. “You get your evidence, fine. Take character into account. Please.”
Kal thought of a few possible responses to this. She settled on, “I will.” She nodded and left Gunn standing empty-handed in the gym.
What next? Kal stood in the corridor for a minute, undecided. It was time for the most important interview of all. Was she ready? A tingling in her spine told her it was time, as much as dreaded it.
She walked to the heavens, or what passed for them on the ship. The astrolab. She sat in the layback chair and looked up.
“Rai?”
“Yes, Kal.”
“I’d like to ask you some questions.” Kal felt a strange peace settle down around her, now that it was finally time.
“Yes, Kal.”
“Where were you when Yarick died?”
“I was here.”
Starship to Demeter (Starship Portals Book 1) Page 13