Most of us deny the existence of ghosts. There is no spectre abroad in the night, we say. No phantom, no presence lingering over the dying fire, no banshee loose in moonlit trees. No spirit eyes peer at us from the dark windows of abandoned houses. But we’re wrong. It’s all true. And even though we understand that they are the creations of the mind, they are no less real.
- Ferris Grammery Famous Ghosts of Dellaconda
We never found Belle. Presumably, after she was taken from the ship, she was discarded.
The AI that had been inserted in her place turned out to be a standard model, a bit more advanced than Belle. But someone had made a few adjustments. Had prepped it to take us out sight-seeing to Ramses. “Could you have done it?” Alex asked me.
No. I wasn’t that good. But I don’t pay much attention to the inner workings of AIs. I knew a few people who could make those sorts of changes. “It’s not that hard,”
I said.
Fenn heard about what had happened, and an escort was waiting for us when the Toronto pulled into Skydeck. They stayed with us until we reached the country house. Fenn arrived moments after we did. “You can’t stay here any longer,” he said.
“We’ll have to arrange something elsewhere. These people, whoever they are, seem to be determined.”
It was good enough for me. But Alex said it was okay, no need to make a big deal of it. He wasn’t fooling anybody, of course. He was scared, too. But he didn’t like showing it, so he continued to tell Fenn not to bother until he thought Fenn was going to back off. Then he caved. For my sake. By early evening, we’d been moved to an inauspicious little two-story town house in Limoges, a medium-sized city two hundred kilometers southwest of Andiquar. There would be security bots constantly in the area, he assured us. We were given fresh identities. “You’ll be safe,” he said.
“They won’t be able to find you. But be careful anyway. Assume nothing.”
So we shut down Rainbow temporarily. “Going on vacation,” we informed our clients. Fenn didn’t even want us to do that. Just slip away in the night, he said. But we couldn’t walk off and leave everybody hanging. There were projects under way, commitments had been made, and there’d be people who’d contact us and expect a response.
We left the country house and began a careful existence of locked doors and staying away from windows.
At the end of the second week, Autoreach, a salvage company, announced it was ready to go out and get the Belle-Marie. Alex stayed home while I went along. When we got to the ship, I installed a fresh AI, an upgrade, in fact, and I fed it a code to ensure that if anyone got to it again I’d know before leaving port.
It felt good to bring the ship back. I arranged extra security for it, and returned to our new home on a blustery winter evening. Alex was sitting quietly in the living room behind his reader and a pile of books. An image of the Polaris floated over the sofa. He looked up when I came in and told me he was glad to see me. “Did you by any chance,” he asked, “see the Polaris while you were on Skydeck? It’s here for a few days.”
He meant the Clermo, of course. “No,” I said. “I wasn’t aware it was scheduled in.”
“I don’t know how you feel about going back up there,” he said, “but I think it’s time we did the tour.”
“We’re going to look at the Clermo?”
“We should have done it two months ago.”
“Why?”
“Everson and his people never found what they were looking for.”
“So-?”
“That means it might still be on the ship.”
I called Evergreen, gave them a set of false names different from the ones Fenn had bestowed on us. I was taking no chances. For this trip, we would be Marjorie and Clyde Kimball. I especially liked that because Alex has a thing about names. There are certain ones, he maintains, that you just can’t take seriously. Herman. Chesley.
Francis. Frank is okay. So I knew what he’d think of Clyde.
“We’re doing a book on the Polaris incident,” I explained, “and we’d like very much to tour the Clermo. ”
My contact was a quiet, intense young woman, dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes.
Professional smile. It put a fair amount of distance between us. “ I’m sorry, ma’am.
The Clermo isn’t fitted out for tours. ” Whatever that meant.
“We’re embarking on this project,” I told her, “under the auspices of Alex Benedict.” That was taking a chance, but it seemed necessary. I waited for a sign of recognition. “I suspect your employers would want you to agree.” That was a leap, but Alex was pretty well known.
“I’m sorry. Who is he again?”
“Alex Benedict.” When she went blank, I added, “The Christopher Sim scholar.”
“Oh. That Alex Benedict.” She didn’t have a clue. “Can you hold, please, Ms.
Kimball? Let me check with my supervisor.”
The supervisor didn’t know either. It took a couple more calls before I finally got through to an executive secretary who said yes, of course, they’d be delighted to have a representative of Mr. Benedict tour the Clermo, except that she didn’t know when the ship would be available.
We went back and forth for the next couple of days before we finally got an invitation, primarily, I suspect, because I’d become a nuisance.
Evergreen’s Skydeck office was located on the ‘Z’ level, at the bottom of the pile and well out of everyone’s way.
The Foundation had purchased the Polaris in 1368, three years after Delta Karpis. They renamed it and had been using it since to transport company executives, politicians, prospective customers, and assorted other special guests.
We got our first sight of it from one of the lower-level viewports. It was smaller than I’d expected, but I should have realized that it wouldn’t be very big. It was a passenger transport vehicle, with a carrying capacity for the captain plus seven. Not much more than a yacht.
It had a retro look, with a rounded prow, flared tubes, and a wide body. Had it not been for its history, I suspected the Clermo would have been retired. But it provided a substantial degree of cachet for Evergreen. It was easy to imagine the Foundation’s executives pointing out to their VIP passengers the very workspace Tom Dunninger had used while history was overtaking the ship. Ah, yes, if the bulkheads could only talk.
The retro look added to the charm. But the forest of scanners, sensors, and antennas that had covered the hull in its Survey days was gone. Only a couple of dishes were visible now, rotating slowly, and a few telescopes.
The hull, once gray, was now sea green. The tubes were gold, and there was a white sunburst on the bow. The imprint of the DEPARTMENT OF PLANETARY SURVEY AND ASTRONOMICAL RESEARCH no longer circled the airlock. The Polaris seal, the arrowhead and star, had been removed from the forward hull, which now read EVERGREEN , in white letters stylized as leafy branches entangled with vines. The Foundation’s tree symbol lay just aft of the main airlock. The only thing that remained from the original designators was the manufacturer’s number, barely visible on the tail.
We were met by a middle-aged, thin, officious man wearing a gray company shirt with the tree logo sewn across the breast pocket. He looked up from a monitor as we strolled into the Evergreen offices. “Ah,” he said, “Mr. and Mrs. Kimball?” His name was Emory Bonner. He introduced himself as the assistant manager of Skydeck operations. He’d done his homework and mentioned his admiration for Alex Benedict’s efforts in what he referred to as “the Christopher Sim business.”
“Magnificent,” he said.
Alex, wearing a false beard and shameless to the last, commented that Benedict was indeed an outstanding investigator, and that it was a privilege to be assisting him in this project.
Bonner said hello to me but never really took his attention from Alex. “May I ask precisely what your interest is in the Clermo, Mr. Kimball?”
Alex went off on a long thing about antiquities, and the value of the Clermo as an artifact. “I sometimes wonder,” he concluded, “whether the executives at Evergreen are aware of the potential market for this ship.”
“Oh, yes,” said Bonner. “We are quite aware. We’ve taken very good care of the Clermo. ”
“Yet,” said Alex, pushing his point, “you’ve kept it in operation. That does nothing for its long-term value.”
“We’ve found it quite useful, Mr. Kimball. You’d be surprised the effect it has on our VIP guests.”
“I’m sure. In any case, we’ll be writing about a number of artifacts that are currently grossly undervalued. Every one of them, Mr. Bonner, will appreciate considerably after publication.” He smiled at the little man. “If you’d like to make a killing, you might try to buy it from the Foundation. It would make an excellent investment.”
“Yes, I’ll talk to them today and make the down payment tomorrow.” Turning serious: “When do you anticipate publication?”
“In a few months.”
“I wish you all the best with it.” He took a moment to notice me, and asked whether I was also working on the project.
“Yes,” I said.
“Very good.” He’d fulfilled his obligation to basic decency. “Well, I know you’re busy, so maybe we should go take a look.”
He led the way outside. We walked back down the tunnel by which we’d come and stopped before a closed entry tube. He told the door to open, we passed through and strolled down onto the docks. He paused to talk to a technician, giving him instructions that sounded as if they were being delivered to impress us. A few moments later we followed him through another tube and emerged beside the Clermo ’s airlock.
Beside the Polaris.
It looked ordinary enough. I’m not sure what I was expecting, a sense of history, maybe. Or the chill that had come when we’d stood at the crime scene on the Night Angel. Whatever had happened that day at Delta Karpis, had happened right there, on the other side of the hatch. Yet I felt no rush of emotion. I kept thinking that I was really looking, not at the inexplicable, but at an object used in an elaborate illusion.
It was open. Bonner and Alex stood aside, allowing me the honor of entering first.
The lights were on. I went in, into the common room, which was twice the size of Belle ’s. There were three small tables and eight chairs arranged around the bulkheads. Bonner began immediately jabbering about something. Fuel efficiency or some such thing. The Polaris had been luxurious, in the way that Survey thought of the term. But its present condition went well beyond that. The relatively utilitarian furniture that you saw in the simulations had been replaced. The chairs were selbic, which looked and felt like soft black leather. The bulkheads, originally white, were dark-stained. Thick green carpets covered the decks. Plaques featuring Evergreen executives posing with presidents, councillors, and senators adorned the bulkheads. (I suspected the plaques were taken down and replaced regularly, a custom set installed for each voyage, depending on who happened to be on board.) The square worktable and displays were gone, and the common room now resembled the setting for an after-dinner club. Hatches were open the length of the ship, so we could see into the bridge and, in the opposite direction, the private cabins and workout area. Only the engineering compartment was closed.
There were four cabins on each side. Bonner opened one for our inspection. The appointments were right out of the Hotel Magnifico. Brass fittings, a fold-out bed that looked extraordinarily comfortable, another selbic chair (smaller, because of space limitations, than the ones in the common room, but lavish nonetheless), and a desk, with a comm link hookup.
The workout area would have accommodated two or even three people. You could run or cycle to your heart’s content through any kind of VR countryside, or lift weights, or whatever you liked. Maximum use of minimum area. It would have been nice to have something like that on the Belle-Marie.
“Evergreen has taken good care of the Polaris, ” Alex said, as we turned and walked back toward the bridge.
Bonner beamed. “Yes, we have. The Clermo has been maintained at the highest level. We’ve spared no effort, Mr. Kimball. None. I expect we’ll see many more years’ service from her.”
Good luck to him on that score. The ship had to be pretty much at the end of her life expectancy, with only a year or so left before her operational credentials would expire.
We went up onto the bridge. It’s amazing how much difference the brass makes.
Although I knew Belle was state-of-the-art, the Clermo just looked as if it could get you where you wanted to go safer and faster. Its Armstrong engines had, of course, been replaced by quantum technology. It felt snug and agreeable. I’d have liked a chance to take her out and tool around a bit.
There couldn’t have been much resemblance to the bridge Maddy English had known. Most of the gear had been updated, and the paneled bulkheads would never have found their way onto a Survey ship. Nevertheless, this was the space she’d occupied. It was the place from which the last transmission had been sent.
“Departure imminent. Polaris out.”
She’d been right about that.
“Notice the calibrated grips,” Bonner was saying. “And the softened hues of the monitors. In addition-” He seemed unaware of why the ship was interesting.
Maddy had been preparing to enter Armstrong space, so the six passengers would have been belted down, probably in the common room, possibly in their quarters. “If you were the pilot of this ship,” Alex asked me when we had a moment, “would it make a difference to you?”
“No. Irrelevant. Whatever they like, as long as the restraints are in place.”
“Anything else you’d like to see?” asked Bonner, who was watching me as if he thought I might try to make off with something.
“Yes,” said Alex, “I wonder if we could take a look belowdecks.”
“Certainly.” He led the way down the gravity tube, and we wandered through the storage area. The lander bay was located immediately below the bridge. Bonner opened the hatch to the smaller vehicle, and we looked in. The lander was a Zebra, top of the line. “New,” I said.
“Yes. We’ve replaced it several times. Most recently just last year.”
“Where’s the original?” Alex asked. “From the Polaris? ”
He smiled. “It’s on display at Sabatini.” Foundation headquarters.
I caught Alex’s eyes as we stood beside the lander. Had he seen what he was looking for?
He signaled no. Either no he hadn’t, or no, don’t say anything.
We strolled out through the airlock. A lone technician was doing something to one of the fuel tanks, and Bonner peeled off to talk to him. When he was out of earshot, Alex asked how difficult it would be for a passenger to seize control of a ship. “I’m talking about getting the AI to take direction,” he said.
That was simple enough. “All you’d have to do, Alex, is to get logged on to the AI response list. But the captain would have to do it.”
“But Belle will take direction from me.”
“You own the ship.”
Bonner caught up with us and asked whether we’d found everything we needed.
“Oh, yes,” said Alex. “It was an exquisite experience.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
“One more question, if you don’t mind, Emory.” Alex was in his charm mode.
“When Evergreen first acquired the Clermo, do you know whether anything left by the original Survey passengers was found on board? Any personal items?”
Well, that one floored him, and he didn’t mind letting us see it. “That’s sixty years ago, Mr. Kimball. Before my time.”
Right. Nothing that had happened before this guy was born could be of any consequence. “I understand that,” Alex said. “But artifacts from an historic ship are valuable.”
“I was under the impression,” he said, “that Survey scoured the ship when it originally came back.”
“Nevertheless, they might have overlooked something. If they did, it would be worthwhile to know about it, and I suspect somebody at Evergreen would have been smart enough to hang on to it.”
“I assume you’re right, Mr. Kimball. But I just have no way of knowing.”
“Who would know?”
He led the way into an exit tube. “Somebody at the Sabatini office might be able to help.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. “One final thing.” He showed him a picture of Teri Barber.
“Have you ever seen this woman?”
He squinted at it and arranged to look unimpressed. “No,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t know her. Should I?”
We caught the ground-side transport and transferred to a flight to Sabatini. Alex sat staring out at the clouds. We’d been in the air only a half hour when the pilot warned us of turbulence ahead. Within minutes we sailed into heavy weather and started to sway. Alex made a comment about the storm, how it looked pretty dark out there. I said yes it did and asked whether he still thought Walker was involved.
“No question about it.”
“How could that be? We know they couldn’t have taken Maddy and the passengers aboard the Peronovski. Are you suggesting Alvarez lied?”
“No. Alvarez appeared before the Trendel Commission. He tested out, so we know he kept nothing back. But they never checked Walker. No reason to.”
“But they couldn’t smuggle seven people onto Alvarez’s ship and maintain them without his knowing.”
“That’s the way it looks.”
“It’s impossible.” I took a deep breath as raindrops began to splatter against the windows. “Not only couldn’t it be done without the captain’s knowledge, it couldn’t be done at all. We’ve been over this. There’s no way the Peronovski could have supported nine people.”
He took a deep breath, sighed, but said nothing.
“There might be another possibility,” I said.
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve been assuming the conspirators were a majority. Pretty much everybody except Dunninger.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve also been assuming there was a kidnapping. But I can tell you how things could have happened.”
“Go ahead.”
“Somebody, one or two, take over the ship. They have six days before the Peronovski will arrive. So they go elsewhere in the system.”
“I’m with you so far.”
“It’s not a kidnapping, Alex. They kill everybody. Get rid of the bodies. Then go to wherever the Peronovski found them. With Walker’s help they get aboard without being seen by Alvarez. And all Alvarez finds is an empty ship.”
“Good,” Alex said. “That seems to account for everything.”
I felt pretty good. “Thank you,” I said.
He was smiling, too. “Why?” he asked.
“You mean, what was the motive?”
“Yes.”
“The same thing we’ve been talking about. To prevent Dunninger from completing his work.”
“You think any of these people were capable of murder?”
“I don’t know.”
“I like your solution,” said Alex, “but I just don’t believe it happened that way.
It’s too bloody-handed. And I can’t imagine Boland or White or any of them consenting to commit murder. For any reason.”
“What about Maddy? She was fairly ruthless.”
“Maddy had no motive.”
“Maybe she was bought.”
“To murder six people? And to disappear herself? I don’t think so.” He took a deep breath. “But you agree that there could have been an extra passenger or two on board the Peronovski without the captain’s being aware of it?”
Yes. They could have used the belowdecks compartments. Walker would have had to get extra supplies on board. Extra water. But if he had done that, it could have been managed. The captain has no reason to go prowling around in storage. “I don’t see why not,” I said.
Alex closed his eyes and appeared to go to sleep. We left the storm behind, and the sun reappeared. Two hours later we crossed the Korali Mountains and began our approach to Sabatini. A cloud of vehicles floated through the sky.
Evergreen’s headquarters was located among rolling hills, on the southern gulf. I’d called ahead and established that, yes, they did have a display room that held exhibits and artifacts from their two-century-long history, that it included the Polaris shuttle and a few other items that had been found on the ship, and yes, they would provide a tour.
Our guide was Cory Chalaba, a middle-aged, steely-eyed woman who felt strongly about endangered reefs in the Minoan Sea, overflowing population on half a dozen Confederate worlds, and the recklessness, as she put it, with which people introduced secondary biosystems onto living planets. We sat drinking coffee and munching donuts for about twenty minutes in her office, talking about Evergreen’s role in what she referred to as the human adventure. “Because that’s what it is.
There’s no plan, there are no stated objectives, no thought for the future. All anyone cares about is profit. And power. And that means development.”
“What about Survey?” I asked. “They must make an effective partner for Evergreen. At least you’re not in it alone.”
“Survey’s worst of all.” She was heating up. “They want to find out how a given biosystem develops, how it got to be what it is. And then record its characteristics.
Once they’ve done that, they don’t give a damn what happens to it.” It was easy to imagine her in the protest line outside Dunninger’s lab at Epstein.
The Foundation’s display was both more and less than I’d expected. It consisted primarily of clothing worn by Evergreen collaborators during historic events, instruments used by them, notebooks, pictures, VR records. There were rocks from Grimaldo, where a small band of Evergreen’s people had died trying to protect that world’s giant lizards from hunters who had flocked to it with a vast array of high-tech cannons. Several of the species, according to an accompanying placard, were now extinct. They had the shoulder patch from Sharoun Kapata’s blouse, dating from the Mineral Wars on Dellaconda. Replicas of boats and ships were mounted along the walls, along with their histories. Transported the Ann Kornichov team to the Gables, 1325. And, Rammed and sunk by net-draggers in the skies of Peleus, 1407.
The Polaris shuttle was there, occupying an alcove. It still looked serviceable.
The public wasn’t permitted inside, but we could get up close enough to see everything. Carrying capacity was four. The harness arrangement was different from anything you’d see in a modern vehicle. Heavier, and more intrusive. Cabin design felt old-fashioned, but you’d expect that. Standard set of controls. Standard guidance system. A basic thruster package that could have come right off Belle ’s shuttle. Two storage cabinets behind the backseat, filled with spare parts. And a cargo compartment in the rear, accessible through a separate hatch. The shuttle retained the Polaris and Survey markings.
The rest of the Polaris display was inconsequential, and was stored in two glass cases.
One held a shirt. “Urquhart’s,” Chalaba said. She consulted a notebook. “It was found in the foldaway bed.”
“The Survey people must have missed it,” said Alex.
“Apparently.”
There were also a pen, a remote, a book, and a makeup kit. “The makeup kit, of course, belonged to one of the women. We’re not sure which. The pen, we don’t know. It was found in its holder on the bridge.”
“You’ve done the archeologically correct thing,” Alex said. “Recording the locations of the finds.”
“As if it matters. But yes, our people did a decent job.” She went back to her notes. “The remote is an electronic key of some sort. It was found in the cargo locker of the lander. We don’t know who that belonged to, either.”
“An electronic key?” Alex peered down at it. It was about the size of a candy bar, with five buttons, one red, four blue, and a display. Each button was marked with a symbol: “What’s it operate?” asked Alex.
Back to the notes. “It doesn’t say. I doubt anybody knows.”
It was hard to imagine why anyone would need a key on the Polaris. Aboard a ship, everything operates off the AI. Or by simple voice command. Or by pushing a button.
“What do you think?” Alex asked me. “Would they need it maybe for the lander?”
“I can’t imagine why,” I said. “No, there’d be no point.”
A remote. In an age when most devices were voice-activated, there’s not much use for it. Kids use them for games. They operate flying models. They open hotel room doors. They can be used to adjust water temperature in pools.
What else?
Alex shook his head. “Anybody have any idea what the symbols mean?”
“The bottom one looks like a negative,” said Chalaba. “Maybe somebody just brought it from home,” she said. “Forgot they had it.”
It looked very much like a standard hotel key. Five buttons: up and down for the elevators, lock and unlock for the apartment, and a transaction button. That would be the red one. The rectangle represented a press pad.
The book was Wilderness of Stars, by Emanuel Placido. It had been a big hit with the environmental people in the last century. “It belonged to White,” Chalaba said.
“We have a virtual copy available if you’d like to see it.”
Alex caught my eyes. Maybe she wrote something in it. Maybe it’s what they’ve been looking for. “Cory,” he said, “since we’re in here, I assume the exhibit area is open to the general public.”
She nodded. “Yes. But we don’t advertise it, so I doubt many people know it’s here.”
He showed her the picture of Barber.
“No,” she said. “I’ve never seen her.”
He gave it to her, along with his code. “It will get you to our office,” he said.
“We’d be grateful if you’d keep an eye open. If she shows up, please give us a call.”
She looked at us suspiciously.
“It’s all right,” he said. “If you’re reluctant to call us, let the Andiquar police know. You’ll want to talk to Inspector Redfield.”
“All right. You mind telling me what it’s about?”
“One other thing,” he said, bypassing the question. “I’d like very much to buy a copy of the key.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kimball, but that’s really not feasible.”
“It’s important,” he said. “And I’d be grateful.” He produced his link, typed in a figure, and showed it to her. “Would this cover it?”
Her eyebrows went up. “Yes,” she said, drawing the word out. “If it means that much, I suppose we can manage it.”
“Thank you,” said Alex. “Please be sure it’s a working duplicate.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I think it’s what Barber and Kiernan were looking for.”
“Really. Why?”
“Because it’s the one object that has no possible use on the Polaris. ”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Ask yourself what it was doing in the shuttle’s cargo compartment.” He looked around to be sure we were alone. “Chase, I know how it was done.”
We were walking across a white stone bridge that separated the Foundation grounds from the landing pad. He stopped and gripped the white handrail and leaned out over a brook as if he were really interested in seeing whether it contained fish. He could be infuriating sometimes. I waited for the explanation, which did not come.
“How?” I said at last.
“You suggested the ship went elsewhere in the system.”
“Yes.”
“Why not outside the system? They had six days before the Peronovski would arrive.”
“It’s possible. Sure.”
“Everybody assumed the ship went adrift right after the last message. But that’s not what happened. It jumped out of the system. Took the passengers somewhere. To a drop-off point. Then they unloaded everyone. The place, wherever it was, had living accommodations. That’s where the key came from.”
“There’s no place like that near Delta Kay.”
“You sure? We’re talking three days available for travel, one way. How far was that in 1365?”
“Sixty light-years.”
“That’s a pretty big area. Even out there.” He dropped a pebble into the water.
“The key, in effect, is a hotel key. Whoever had it unloaded his passengers, got a good night’s sleep, and in the morning he started back in the Polaris to Delta Kay.”
“-Where the ship was found by the Peronovski -”
“Yes.”
“And, with Walker’s help, he was able to slip aboard and hide below. Until they returned to port.”
“Very good, Chase.”
“You really think that’s what happened?”
“Except one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Change the pronoun. She slipped aboard.”
“Maddy?”
“I don’t think there’s any question. She’s the one in the ideal position to pull it off, provided she had help from other passengers. And she was a pilot. The conspirators had arranged in advance to make another ship available for her at Indigo.
When she got back, she collected it and went out to recover them.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“All the objects that were looked at by our burglars belonged to Maddy. Nobody else.”
“But Alvarez should have seen her when he searched the Polaris. ”
“She hid in the shuttle cargo compartment. That’s when she lost the key.”
“They had no reason to open the cargo compartment.”
“Right. And when the search was over, Alvarez and Walker went back to the Peronovski. That night, Alvarez goes to sleep-”
“-And Walker brings her aboard.”
“He stashed her in one of the compartments belowdecks. Voila, the alien wind has swept them all away.”
“Incredible,” I said. “That simple.”
Alex shrugged modestly.
“They did all this just to head off Dunninger’s research?”
“They saw it as life and death for millions of people. And they were all idealists.”
“Fanatics.”
“One man’s idealist is another’s lunatic.”
“But why is anyone worried about it now? Is someone still in power from those years?”
His eyes were troubled. “No. I’ve checked. Everyone who could have been involved, either at Survey, or in the political world, is dead or retired.”
“Then who’s behind the attacks on us?”
“I have an idea, but let’s put that aside for now.”
“Okay. So where’d the Polaris take them?”
“That’s what we have to find out.”
We stayed in Sabatini and returned to Limoges the next day by train. Alex liked trains, and he also thought it might be smart to change our travel plans. Just in case.
We rode a taxi to the station and arrived just as the Tragonia Flyer was pulling in. We got into our compartment, and Alex lapsed into silence. The train made a second stop in Sabatini, then began its long trek across the Koralis.
We were still in mountain country when the service bot brought lunch. And wine. Alex gazed moodily through the window at the passing landscape.
I thought about Maddy while I ate. I liked her, identified with her, and I hated to think she’d been part of a conspiracy to put Dunninger out of action.
“First thing we need to do,” I told Alex, “is to go back and look at the shipping schedules again. We’d assumed that any black ship would have to go all the way out to Delta Kay. But this changes things. We need to check, to see whether anyone was in a position to get close enough to manage a rendezvous.”
“I’ve already looked,” he said. “It was one of the first things I did.”
“So you’re telling me nobody would have been able to do that either?”
“That’s correct. Nobody was unaccounted for. Nobody, other than the Peronovski, was anywhere near the target space. And not for weeks afterward.
Which means Maddy didn’t immediately go back to pick them up. But that’s just smart planning.”
He finished his meal and pushed it aside.
“You know,” I said, “I think I prefer the alien juggernaut theory.”
“Yeah. I feel that way, too.”
“I have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“What was the last-minute emergency that kept Taliaferro off the flight?”
“Chase, I don’t think Taliaferro ever intended to go. I think everybody on board that ship was part of the conspiracy to shut down Dunninger. Taliaferro got volunteers, people who were willing to give up their everyday lives to stop something they thought would be a major calamity. But there was a limited number he dared ask.
Not enough to fill the ship. Taliaferro couldn’t go himself, because they needed him to direct things from Survey. They were going to need money, for example, and eventually a base. So Taliaferro set up Morton College. But there were a lot of people who wanted to make the Polaris flight, so they had to be able to claim it was filled.”
We passed through a small town, lots of lights, someone on a runabout.
Otherwise, the streets were empty.