Polaris

EIGHTEEN

We did the research. Shawn Walker had done well with CyberGraphic, but had been forced out in what the industrial reports described as a power grab in 1380, a few months before his death, and fifteen years after his historic flight with the Peronovski.

There’d been some suspicion that his untimely end was connected with events at the corporation, but no charges had ever been filed.

His wife Audrey married again several years later. The second husband was Michael Kimonides, a chemistry professor at Whitebranch University. He’d died eight years ago.

We let Fenn know where we were headed, and received his heartfelt wish that we stay away until he was able to complete the investigation. He told us, by the way, that they had found no record on Kiernan. “Why am I not surprised?” he grumbled.

Earlier I said that traveling around the local galactic arm was just eyeblink stuff.

And that’s true, up to a point. But the generator has to charge before you make the transit. That takes time, at least eight hours for Belle, and maybe a lot more depending on how far you’re going. And, of course, you always give yourself plenty of leeway at the destination so you don’t arrive inside a planetary core. Twenty million klicks is the minimum range. I’m inclined to increase that by fifty percent. So that means at least four or five days transit time.

The quantum drive has been a godsend for Alex, who used to get deathly ill during the jump phases with the old Armstrongs. It was a major problem because the nature of his work required him to travel extensively. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he enjoyed it during the time I’m describing, but heading out at least no longer involved him in minor trauma.

While we waited for clearance to depart skydeck, Alex settled in the common room, which was located immediately aft the bridge. When I went back after setting up, he was scribbling notes to himself and occasionally consulting his reader.

“Maddy,” he said, by way of explanation. “She’s central to this whole thing.”

She’d begun her professional career as a fleet pilot and had taken out a Mute destroyer during an engagement near Karbondel. She’d been decorated, and when it turned out that the strike had taken place shortly after a cease-fire had gone into effect, nobody had cared. The Mutes, after all, had initiated the attack. At least, that was the official version.

She had apparently been an independent spirit. Didn’t like having to deal with superior officers, and had left at the end of her obligated time to become a freelancer.

She’d hired out to corporate interests, but got bored hauling passengers and freight between the same ports, and finally, at Urquhart’s urging, signed on with Survey. It didn’t pay as well, but it meant flights into places no one had ever gone before. She liked that.

Sacracour orbited the gas giant Gobulus, which was 160 million kilometers from its swollen red sun. The sun was expanding, burning helium, and would, during the next few million years, swallow its four inner worlds, one of which would be Gobulus, its rings, its vast system of moons, and, of course, Sacracour.

The planet’s biosystem was eight billion years old. It featured walking plants, living clouds, and, arguably, the biggest trees on record, skyscrapers twice the size of Earth’s Sequoias. Martin Klassner had predicted that humans would eventually learn to juggle stellar development and would stabilize the local sun. Sacracour would be forever.

The first settlers had been members of a religious order. They’d built a monastery in a mountain chain, called it Esperanza, and they were still there. And prospering. Some of the prime scholars and artists of the past few centuries have made it their home, including Jon Cordova, who, by many accounts, is the greatest of all playwrights.

Most of the planet’s contemporary inhabitants-there are fewer than three hundred thousand altogether-live along a seacoast that’s usually warm and invigorating. Lots of beach and sun. Great sky views. They haven’t yet achieved tidal lock, so if you time things right you can sit out on the beach and watch Gobulus, with its rings and its system of moons, rise out of the ocean.

The hitch was that the section of seacoast to which we were headed was experiencing mid-winter.

The orbital transport brought us down to Barakola in Bukovic at night in the middle of a sleet storm. We were on the near side of Gobulus, facing away from the sun, and the gas giant itself had set an hour earlier. The darkness was almost absolute.

We rented a skimmer, checked in at our hotel, changed clothes, and headed for Tabatha-Li.

It was an island, home to Whitebranch University, two hours from the hotel. We outran the storm and the clouds and sailed out under a canopy of moons and rings.

Directly ahead of us, just off the horizon, we saw an oscillating blue star.

“What is it?” asked Alex.

“It’s Ramses. A pulsar.”

“Really? I’ve never seen one before. It’s a collapsed star, right? Like the one that hit Delta Kay?”

“More or less,” I said.

It dimmed and brightened. Dimmed and brightened. He didn’t approve. “Having that thing in the sky all the time would give you a headache.”

Tabatha-Li was quaint, quiet, and old-fashioned, but not in the way Walpurgis had been. This was last-century style with money. The island was a favorite location for retired technocrats and government and media heavyweights. This was one of the places local interviewers visited when they wanted commentary on some contentious political or social policy.

Audrey Kimonides, the former Audrey Walker, lived in a luxurious turtle-shell house on the north side of the campus. There was stone art on the lawn and a Marko skimmer by the pad. Audrey did not want for resources.

Icicles hung from the roof and the trees. Snow was piled up everywhere. Lights were on inside and out. Audrey had known we were coming, and the front door opened before we were on the ground.

If you’re visiting a centenarian, you expect to see someone who’s come to terms with mortality and exhibits a degree of composure and resignation. It’s never expressed, of course, but you can see it in the eyes and hear it in the voice, a kind of world-weariness, a sense of there being nothing left that can yield a surprise.

Audrey Kimonides, on the contrary, was a bundle of barely suppressed energy.

She strode purposefully out the front door, a book in her left hand, a wrap thrown around her shoulders. “Mr. Benedict.” She exhaled a little cloud of mist. “Ms.

Kolpath. Do please come inside. You didn’t pick the right time of year to come visiting.” She led the way back, warned us that the house was full of drafts, and settled us in front of a fire. “May I get you something to fight off the cold?” she asked.

“By all means,” said Alex, warming to her immediately.

She broke out a decanter of dark red midcountry wine and, when Alex offered to help, insisted he sit and relax. “You’ve had a long flight,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.” She popped the cork, filled three glasses, passed them around, and offered, as her toast, “The world’s historians, who never really get things right.”

She beamed at Alex to let him know that she understood exactly who he was and that she admired people who upset applecarts. “Mr. Benedict,” she continued, “it’s such a pleasure to meet you. And Ms. Kolpath. The two of you. Here at my home. I can hardly believe it. I can’t tell you how much I would have given to have been with you when you made your discovery.”

She was a trim woman, not tall, with startling blue eyes and the erect posture of someone half her age. Her hair was white, but her voice was clear and vibrant. She put the decanter on a coffee table, where we could all reach it, and sat down in an armchair. “I assume you wanted to ask me about Michael.”

Michael was the second husband, known for his work on the Columbian Age.

“Actually,” Alex said, “I was interested in Shawn.”

“Shawn?” She looked at me for confirmation. No one’s ever really interested in Shawn. “Well, of course. What did you want to know?”

There were pictures atop a bookshelf and on a side table. An audacious-looking young Audrey and a dreamy-eyed Shawn Walker. And a much older Audrey with another man, formal, white whiskers, officious-looking. Kimonides.

“I was wondering if you’d tell us about him, what kind of work he did?”

“Certainly,” she said. “It’s simple enough, I suppose. He designed, installed, and maintained AIs. He worked thirty years for CyberGraphic before starting his own company. But I assume you know that.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why you’re interested? Is there some sort of problem?”

“No,” said Alex. “We’re trying to figure out what happened to the Polaris. ”

She needed a moment to process that. “Shawn always wondered about that himself.”

“I’m sure.”

“Yes. Odd thing, that was. I never understood how it could happen. But I don’t see how I can help.”

“Good wine,” I said, to ease the pace.

“Thank you, dear. It’s from Mobry.”

I doubt either of us had any idea what or where Mobry was, but Alex nodded sagely. “Ms. Kimonides-” he said.

“Oh, please, do call me Audrey.”

“Audrey, yes. Shawn was on the Peronovski. ”

“That’s right. First ship on the scene. He and Miguel Alvarez-Miguel was the captain-were the ones who found the Polaris. ” She looked momentarily regretful.

“Everybody knew about Miguel Alvarez, of course. The captain. But if you’re the number two guy, nobody notices.”

“Did he ever talk to you about it? Did he tell you what happened out there?”

“Alex, he told the world. If you’re asking me whether he said things in private that he didn’t reveal to the commission, the answer’s no. Except his personal feelings.”

“How did he feel?”

“ Spooked would probably be the appropriate word.” I could see her looking back across the years and shaking her head. “It was an unnerving experience. He knew Warren personally, you know.”

“Mendoza?”

“Yes. They were close friends. They grew up together. Stayed close over the years.” Her eyes slid shut, then opened again. “Poor Warren. In the early days we used to socialize with them. He and his wife, Amy.”

“Did Shawn know anybody else on the flight? Did he know Tom Dunninger?”

“Not really. We met him once. But I wouldn’t want to say we really knew him.”

“Audrey, I don’t like bringing up a painful memory, but there was some suspicion that Shawn’s death wasn’t an accident. What do you think happened?”

“It’s not a problem, Alex. I got past it long ago. I assume you want to know whether I think he was murdered?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

“Who stood to gain by his death?”

“No one that I know of. May I ask what this could possibly have to do with the Polaris?”

“We’re not sure it has anything to do with it. But a couple of days ago, someone sabotaged the antigravity pods in our skimmer. Very nearly killed us.”

Her eyes got wide, and she looked over at me, then at something far away.

“Well, isn’t that strange? I’m so glad you’re both all right.”

“Thank you.”

“You were luckier than Shawn.”

“I was fortunate to have this young lady along,” said Alex, giving me full credit.

Deservedly, I suppose. He described what I’d done, embellishing it substantially so it sounded as if I’d been doing handstands on the wings.

When he finished she refilled our glasses and offered a toast to me. “I wish you’d been with Shawn,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek. “It got a lot of coverage here, naturally.” I could see her replaying old memories. “And you think there’s a connection with Shawn’s death.” The lines around her eyes and mouth deepened. “But surely-” She thought better of what she was going to say and let it go.

Alex wrote something in a paper notebook. He often took notes when he dealt with clients. He’d learned long ago to avoid recording whole conversations, because it had the effect of making people reluctant to speak. “Had there been any indication your husband was in danger? Any threat? Any warning?”

She sipped her wine and placed the glass, still half-full, on the table. “No.

Nothing like that. There was just no reason I knew of that anyone would have wanted to harm him.”

“Audrey,” I said, “forgive me for asking, but if there had been a problem, would he have told you?”

That prompted a hesitation. “Earlier in our marriage, he would certainly have said something. During the later years”-her brow wrinkled, and she looked uncomfortable-“he never gave me reason not to trust him, Chase. He was a decent man. But I did feel he had secrets.”

I thought she immediately wished she could recall the remark. But it was too late, and she only shrugged.

“About the problems at CyberGraphic?”

“No. Not really. I knew about those. They were all trying to get control of the operation, three of them, and I’m not sure Shawn was any better or worse than the others. Not that they were vile, or anything like that. They were all just competitive.

Opportunistic. Money and power were important to them.” Her eyes met mine. “You know what I mean, dear.”

“Yes,” I said, not sure what she was suggesting.

“Audrey,” said Alex, “what made you think he had secrets?”

She sat back and thought it over. “He changed,” she said.

“In what way?”

“It’s hard to put a finger on.”

“Did he not confide in you as much as he had?”

Those blue eyes became suddenly suspicious. “Is any of this for publication, Alex?”

“No, ma’am. Listen, somebody tried to kill us. We think it’s the same somebody who blew up the exhibition at Survey last month. And it might be the same somebody who arranged Shawn’s accident. If I may ask, where were you and your husband based when the Polaris incident occurred?”

“We were at Indigo.”

“But, of course, he wasn’t with you when the Polaris docked there on its way to Delta Kay.”

“No. He’d been gone for a couple of weeks. On the Peronovski. ”

“This change in attitude, did it occur after the Polaris incident?”

She thought about it. “It’s hard to remember, but yes,” she said finally.

Alex nodded. “How long were you at Indigo?”

“Three years. The standard tour.”

“Audrey, how would you describe those years?”

Her eyes brightened. “That was a good time. Best years of my life.”

That surprised me. “Most people don’t much care for duty on the outstations,” I said.

Audrey glowed. “We were a small group, the technical support people. We shared the same interests, and we all got along quite well. No, they were good days.”

“Not like here?”

“Well, not like the corporate world. At Indigo, he was isolated from the movers and shakers. Out there we were together, and there was no one else there except friends.”

Alex made another notation in his book. “You left there in 1366?”

“Yes.”

“The Polaris and the other two ships docked at Indigo on the way out to Delta Kay. A year earlier.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You remember it, then?”

“Oh, yes. It was a major event. Six celebrities on the Polaris. Everybody was excited. They did interviews. People went down to the dock hoping to see one or another of them. It became a holiday.”

“Did you see Mendoza during that time?”

“Yes. We had lunch together, as a matter of fact. At dockside, I believe it was.

They weren’t in port long. Hardly a day, as I recall.”

“Was he excited about going to Delta Karpis?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. He seemed kind of quiet that afternoon.”

“Was that unusual?”

“Yes, I thought so. I’d always found him outgoing. Nonstop jokes. Everything was funny to Warren.”

“But not that day?”

“No. I thought at the time that he was overawed by the nature of the mission.”

“That might explain it.” Alex looked thoughtful.

She got up and went over and poked the fire a couple of times. “I had a renaissance sandwich. Funny how you remember something like that. Renaissance and iced tea. And bamberry sauce. I don’t know why it sticks in my mind. Maybe because as it turned out, I never saw Warren again.”

“They left next day?”

“First thing in the morning. I went over and watched them shove off.”

“Was there anything unusual about your conversation with him?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Were there any contacts at all between your husband and Warren? Any messages pass between them?”

“I don’t think so. At least nothing that Shawn ever mentioned.”

“Audrey,” I said, “how did your husband react when you first heard what had happened to the Polaris? ”

“Well, understand he was out on the Peronovski. He’d been gone a couple of weeks. They were on their way to some place or other, I really don’t remember where, but it was Shawn’s job to calibrate the AI. That’s what he did, design and smooth out the AIs. At that time the company had been marketing a new system, or upgrading an old one. I’m not sure which. I’m trying to remember the name. Sailor.

Voyager. Something like that.”

“Mariner,” I suggested.

“Yes. That’s it. He took it out to run tests.”

“Mariner,” I said, “became a precursor for the Halo series.” Belle was a Halo.

“So how’d he react?”

“I used to hear from him every day or so. When the news first got to him, he sent me a message and told me he was sure everything would be okay. He said it was probably just a communication breakdown.”

“When they found the Polaris, did he continue to keep you abreast of things?”

“No. Captain Alvarez ordered him to stop all personal communications. I received a notification to that effect from the comm center telling me I wouldn’t hear any more from Shawn for a while.” She smiled. “It was very upsetting. They told me Shawn was okay, but we all knew something terrible had happened.”

“How long was it before they revealed that the passengers had been lost?”

“Three or four days, I think.”

Alex finished his wine, and put the glass down. “What can you tell me about your husband, Audrey?”

“What’s to tell? He was a good man, mostly. He was a good father.”

“How many children did you have with him?”

“Two. Two sons. They’re both grandfathers now. He worked hard, Alex. He was a good provider. Liked to play simulated war games with the boys. They went on sometimes for weeks.” She smiled. “I was just out of high school when I met him.”

“Love at first sight?”

“Oh, yes. He was the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know how to ask the next question.”

“It’s all right. He never cheated. Never showed any interest in other women.”

“No. That’s not really where I was headed. Was he honest in his dealings with other people?”

“Why, yes. Of course.”

“Could he be bought?”

“To do something dishonest? No, I don’t think so.”

Alex showed her pictures of Agnes Crisp, Teri Barber, and Marcus Kiernan. “Do you by any chance know any of these people?” he asked.

She studied them and shook her head. “No, I’ve never met any of them.” She focused on the two women. “They look a lot alike. Styles are different, hair color. But aren’t they the same person?”

Alex said no, he didn’t think so. “I wanted to thank you for talking to us,” he said, “and for the wine.”

We came out the door, stood a moment in the cold air, then walked between the banks of snow and got into the skimmer. We lifted off and headed out to sea. “Okay,” I said, watching the lights of Tabatha-Li recede. “What was that all about?”

“Shawn Walker was killed because he knew something.”

“What did he know?”

“Let me ask you a question first,” Alex said. “What can you tell me about the Peronovski? ”

“Class II freighter. Sheba model. Obsolete. They don’t build them anymore.”

“There were two people on board, Alvarez and Walker. How many people could the Peronovski support?”

“It had two cabins topside, and, as best I can recall, two below.”

“Damn it, Chase, I didn’t ask about cabins. How many people?”

“No need to get excited,” I said. “It was designed to accommodate three passengers plus the captain. Four in all. The rule of thumb is that your life support can normally handle fifty percent more than the official capacity. That makes six maximum.”

“What happens if they go for more than that?”

“Brain damage,” I said. “Not enough air. Why? What are you thinking?”

Alex was staring down at the sea. “I think I know why it all happened. What I’m trying to figure out is how. ”

“Tell me why.”

“I think Dunninger had the formula he was looking for. I think the other five passengers were involved in a conspiracy to see that it never saw the light of day.”

“That can’t be right,” I said. “Those people were heavyweights. They weren’t going to get involved in a kidnapping.”

“You want me to play Mendoza’s address to the White Clock Society again?

You’ve heard what they think. All five were committed to the idea that most human misery is in a direct cause-and-effect relationship with overpopulation. And here’s a guy who’s going to prevent people from dying? Who’s going to see that the population of the Confederacy goes up by hundreds of millions every year?”

“So they kidnapped Tom Dunninger? And Maddie?”

“They kidnapped Dunninger. That’s why they destroyed the Epstein lab. To get rid of everything. To ensure nobody else could repeat the work.”

“But why do something so complicated as the Polaris? If they were going to kidnap him and burn the lab, why not just do it?”

“Because, first, they knew they’d get caught if the authorities began investigating a kidnapping. It would have resulted in a massive manhunt. And, second, because they didn’t want people to know that Dunninger was on the right track. Everybody assumed then, as they assume now, that it can’t be done. So what they needed was an elaborate illusion. The Delta Kay business provided the perfect opportunity.”

“My God, Alex. You really think it happened that way?”

“I have no doubt.”

“But where’d they go? How’d they manage it?”

“I don’t know. I thought at first they might have come back on the Peronovski.

With Walker’s collusion.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Even with extra air tanks installed?”

“It would have been difficult. And Alvarez would have had to be in on it, too.

Not to mention a couple of technicians.”

“Too many outside people.”

“I agree. They’d never have been able to keep it quiet.”

When we got back to the hotel, they had us sign a statement that we wouldn’t go onto the beach for the next few nights because it was the mating season for the yoho and if we did go out and something happened, we would not hold the hotel liable.

“What,” I asked Alex, “is a yoho?”

We were in the lobby. The snow had stopped, and the sea was gray and misty. “I don’t think we want to know,” he said.