The Devil's Eye

EIGHTEEN

Calient was the principal island in a group of four in the middle of the Balin Sea. These were the Golden Isles. All had beautiful beaches, and the nightclubs and restaurants were spread equitably among the four. None of the islands measured as much as seven kilometers at its widest. They would have been an ideal location for Vicki. Two of the islands had occult connections. On Khyber Island, something spoke in the winds. And Calient claimed a ghostly yacht.

The weather was warm when we arrived. Alex went to work with the house AI while I sat out by the pool. Topless again. I told myself a little exhibitionism was good for the soul, but I don't think I could ever get used to it. The yacht legend had it that two lovers, one on Calient and the other on Khyber (though sometimes he was from Sanikaw) had been kept apart by feuding families. It was the classic situation. The boy eventually made off with the family's yacht, determined to collect his lover and head for a more rational place. But a storm blew up during the crossing. The family discovered he was missing, and the boat as well. They called him, pleaded with him to return. The boy refused, and the storm overwhelmed him. Wreckage washed ashore a day or two later. The lover was never found. According to the story, on dark nights, when neither Callistra nor the galactic rim is visible, the yacht can be seen, still trying to get across the narrow strip of water to Khyber Island. People on Khyber claim the girl's spirit roams the beaches at such times, waiting for him. It's an intriguing tale, and I don't think I've ever been to a remote place that doesn't have one like it. It was the sort of story that would have enchanted Vicki. That said, we found no indication she'd ever visited the Golden Isles. There was no mention of her in the news archives. Nobody remembered her. One of the bookstores had a mystery club, and the coordinator was shocked to learn that Vicki Greene might have been in the Isles and she hadn't been aware of it. Alex came out after a while. I picked up the notebook I'd brought out and laid it on my chest. Casually, of course. He sat down in the beach chair beside me and pretended nothing unusual was going on. I let it go for a while. Then: "Any luck?" "Maybe." He glanced at the notebook. "Enjoying yourself?" "As a matter of fact, yes." "Good," he said. "I think we wasted our time coming out here." "I like islands." "That's the right spirit."

I met a couple of the local guys, one of whom was maybe the funniest character I've ever seen. I remember regretting that he lived so far away. When he asked about my accent-"You're not from around here, are you?"-we both had a good laugh. "Not exactly," I said. His name was Charjek. A strange name. He called himself Charger , and it fit. We had a good time. Next day we hit the beach. That night we went to dinner and a show. He asked whether I'd be staying on Calient and looked genuinely unhappy when I told him we'd be going home shortly. We traded contact information, assured each other we'd get together again, and even sent each other occasional messages later. I never saw him again, though, after those few days. I can't recapture it now, but nobody has ever made me laugh so much.

Two days later I said good-bye to Charger and we returned to Moreska. We arrived on a cold, rainy morning, got off the plane, and started over to Sunlight Travel to pick up a shuttle we'd booked. Instead we picked up something else. A man and a woman were waiting for us. They showed us credentials identifying them as agents of the Coalition Security Service. CSS. "We have a skimmer topside," the woman said without inflection. Her name was Krestoff. "We'd appreciate it if you'd come with us." She was attractive, in a cold, hard way. Blond hair, brown eyes, all business. Alex stood his ground. "Why?" Her partner was big and might have been a professional bong thrower. He smiled down at Alex. Krestoff shook her head. "You've an appointment." "With whom? You mind telling us what this is about?" "I don't know the details, Mr. Benedict. We are here simply to provide escort. Now, I'll need your comm links." Alex's notebook was clipped to a pocket. "And that, too, please."

"Are we under arrest?" "Not yet," she said.