Alex fast-forwarded through the party and the good-byes and the ride to the spaceport. The arrival at Skydeck flickered past. The two celebrants moved laughing and talking through the concourse, and finally we got a look at the Night Star, which would take them out to Serendipity, where they’d transfer to the tour ship. “Any indication where they’re going?” I asked.
“Not really. It’s a place World’s End called Celebration. God knows what its catalog number is.”
They reached the boarding area. Mira must have been taking the pictures because mostly we were seeing Hugo. Hugo handing tickets to the agent and getting waved on. Hugo, despite the light gravity, tromping up the ramp and through the hatch. Hugo inspecting the Night Star’s lush interior. Hugo shaking hands with other passengers.
We followed them to Dip, which, even though it was thirty years ago, looked better than its current incarnation. Once there, they checked in at the World’s End office, got their tickets, and, a few hours later, boarded the Mercury.
Its cabin was big and elegant. Eight seats were spread out, designed so they could be rotated. The backs were adjustable. There was no separate bridge. The pilot operated from a cockpit at the head of the cabin, presumably so the paying customers could watch. His seat and the control panel were on a recessed section located a half meter lower than the passengers’ deck. There was a second seat for a navigator or copilot immediately to his right.
The rear of the cabin opened into a padded passageway, which contained sleeping quarters and washrooms, a workout section, and a combination dining and recreation area.
Four of their fellow passengers were already seated. A tall blond male in a captain’s uniform was running through preflight. He was well along in years, one of those guys with a serene exterior who could reassure you that everything was under control while you were being sucked into a black hole. As another couple came through the hatch, he finished, turned around, and got out of his chair. Hugo was operating the imager, and we watched Mira smile for the captain. “Welcome aboard, folks,” the captain said. “World’s End Tours is pleased to have you along. If there’s anything we can do to make your flight more comfortable, if you need anything at any time, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“The captain,” said Alex, reading from a set of notes that had accompanied the holo, “is Adrian Barnard. He was from Maraluna, and he’s retired.”
“Do we know who the other passengers are?” There were three other couples.
“We have first names, but that’s all.”
Well, it didn’t matter.
It was impossible to trace their course. Or even to know how long it took them to get to their destination. They threw several parties en route. When they arrived, everybody applauded. There were pictures of a sun and a set of rings. Mostly, though, we saw Mira looking out the viewport and Hugo sitting in the copilot’s seat. Eventually, we found ourselves looking at a rockscape. Part of an asteroid, probably.
We drifted through the rings and looked down at the surface of a golden gas giant.
Then there were more celebrations. People wore party hats. Hugo offered a toast to a couple, who explained they “come out here all the time.”
The viewports were unlike any I had seen before. Normally, ships have standard models. But, when Barnard gave the word to April, Mercury’s AI, the entire front of the ship became transparent. I understood then that the captain and the control panel were at a lower level so as to keep the view unimpeded for the passengers. It was a breathtaking moment for me, and I was simply watching a hologram. God knows what it was like for the people actually seated in the cabin.
I was still gawking when a robot showed up to serve drinks. Somebody offered a toast to the captain.
They had several more while a bright star appeared in the wraparound. “Does it have a name, Captain?” asked one of the passengers.
“Out here, Phil,” he said, “almost nothing has a name.”
Most of the passengers went below and boarded a lander. One or two elected to stay where they were. The launch doors opened, and they soared out into a sky that was bright red but had no stars. The engines fired, and they were on their way.
They drifted down to a cratered surface that glowed in the scarlet light. “What’s going on?” asked Alex.
“It’s a cool sun,” I said. “They’re in pretty close.”
The captain gave the AI a direction, and the lander’s overhead simultaneously darkened and rolled back. The bulkheads vanished, and it was as if we were all sitting out on the surface. Everybody was staring up, mouths open, looking at a sky so completely dominated by the sun that nothing else was visible.
Later, back in the Mercury, they caught up with and rode alongside a comet. The comet had rounded the sun and was heading back out into the deeps of the planetary system. Consequently, the head of the comet was at the rear, its tail blown ahead by the solar wind.
“It is inspirational, isn’t it?” said one of the passengers. I agreed.
The captain touched a switch, and the comet faded to a dim streak. He turned a dial, and we saw an asteroid. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “this is our bullet.”
Their “bullet”? I glanced over at Alex. He signified he had no better idea than I did.
As the passengers watched, the asteroid tumbled slowly through the night.
“Prime real estate,” said Hugo. Apparently someone else had the imager, because we were looking at both Hugo and Mira. Mira smiled pleasantly at her husband. “You thinking of moving, dear?”
“How far are we?” asked one of the women. “From the comet?”
The captain relayed the question to the AI. “Ninety-one hundred klicks,” the AI said. Her voice was that of a middle-aged mother. Best for family outings.
Alex laughed. “She probably has seductive settings, too.” The Mercury was behind the asteroid. I couldn’t tell how big the asteroid was because I didn’t know the range. The comet was a few degrees to starboard. And I knew what they were going to do.
The asteroid tumbled slowly through the night. It was like pretty much every other loose rock in the cosmos, lopsided, battered, worn. Been there a long time. But I could sense that the people in the cabin were proud of it. This was their asteroid.
The essence of any good tour, of course, is that it is a party on wheels. So to speak. They closed in on the rock, and they kept the glasses full.
“It looks like a lonely place,” said a woman who looked barely out of her teens. Her name was Amy, and she seemed to have a connection with a considerably older man who reminded me of our longtime family physician. They were close enough by then that the asteroid had actually taken on the appearance of a world. Well—a world in miniature, maybe.
Mira said, “It needs a name.”
They argued for a while, and settled finally on Louie. One of the other women, pale-skinned, with glittering wealth on display, announced that she thought Louie was the perfect name. This was Janet. “Yes,” she added, “I like it.”
They raised their glasses toward the screen. Toward the asteroid. “Here’s to you, Louie.”
“To Louie,” said Mira. “May you make your mark.”
Mira wondered how old Louie was.
The captain lifted his hands. Who knew? “Couple of billion years, probably. Maybe more than that.”
“It’s beautiful,” one of the women said.
The captain smiled politely. “Well, that’s what World’s End is all about. We take your breath away.”
And they did. The captain got behind the asteroid, maintaining a range of about five kilometers. We watched its broken surface rise in the wraparound. The passengers gasped and laughed and held on to their seats. Shadows moved across the rock as it turned slowly over in the glare of the sun. The captain was enjoying himself. He obviously loved the job. I wondered where he was today.
One of the passengers sent a wistful sigh to the Almighty. And we could still see the comet, its long fiery tail stretching acros
s the stars.
The captain matched velocity with the rock. Then he got up from the pilot’s seat. “Mr. Brockmaier,” he said, “you have the conn.”
Brockmaier had the conn? He was a lawyer.
Alex grumbled something about what the hell was going on.
“He’s not really turning control over,” I said. “That would be crazy. The AI has it. Brockmaier knows it. Everybody knows it. It’s all part of the ride.”
Hugo produced an officer’s cap and, as he came forward, put it on at a jaunty angle. He lowered himself into the captain’s chair. “Okay, April,” he said. “Ready to go.”
“At your command, Captain Brockmaier.”
Hugo couldn’t suppress a grin. That last line had a nice ring to it.
“Give ’em hell, honey,” said Mira.
The passengers clapped. Hugo threw a glance at the captain. The implication was clear: Hugo could run this thing for real if it wouldn’t upset everybody.
The captain sat down beside Mira. I’d expected him to take the copilot’s seat, but he left Hugo on his own. It was more dramatic this way, and that was, after all, what the passengers had paid for.
Hugo studied the instruments as if he knew precisely what he was doing.
April enlarged the image of the asteroid on the main screen. “Everybody lock in,” she said. “You, too, Skipper.”
A security lamp went green.
“Okay, April. Let’s do the rock. Stay at a range of five hundred meters, and match course and speed.”
“Complying, Captain.” April’s voice was soft and calm. Everything was under control.
They closed on the asteroid. It grew in the wraparound, and grew some more, until it was directly in front of and slightly beneath the ship. Until they were close enough to make out every crevice and crater. Then, gradually, it slid beneath them, disappearing, though they could still see it on the navigation screen.
“Range five hundred,” April said.
Hugo leaned right and studied the panel. “Okay, April.” He tugged at his beard. “Take us down.”
“Beginning descent.”
“Navigation lights, April.”
They came on and bathed the battered, pockmarked surface.
Cracks and jagged ridges crisscrossed everywhere. As they descended, the horizon simultaneously widened and retreated. “Angle on the target.”
They moved to starboard. And the comet appeared directly over the horizon. Dead ahead.
“Done, Captain.”
Target? Belatedly, I realized what they were going to do.
The comet was getting big and getting bigger. The system provided a crosshairs for Hugo. It didn’t do everything automatically. That would have taken the fun out of the operation. The challenge was to get the timing down, pick a point of collision, and put the asteroid on course.
“Target range?” Hugo asked.
“Twenty-six thousand kilometers.”
“Louie’s approach velocity?”
“Forty-two thousand.”
“So when—?”
“Louie will impact, or cross the orbit, in thirty-seven minutes.”
They moved in still closer. Perspective shifted, and suddenly we were looking down at the surface.
“Do you know what they’re doing?” Alex asked.
“They’re going to use the antigravs to guide the asteroid. They’ve got juiced-up versions, level-four plates probably, on the prow. They don’t just negate the standard gee force, the way level-one units do. Level-four plates actually create a counterforce. A strong one. They push the ship away from the object. So, to move the object, the ship fires its engines and pushes. Theoretically, they should be able to control the flight of the asteroid. To a degree. They’re aiming at the comet.”
“But they can’t even see the comet now.”
“They don’t have to push the whole time, Alex. They’ll estimate what they need, give it a shove, then let go and check to see how they’re doing. Meantime, April knows where everything is, even if she can’t see it.”
“You ever hear about anything like this before? Banging asteroids around?”
“It’s a technique used in construction projects. I never heard of anybody doing it for entertainment.”
“Ready to lock on, Captain,” said April.
Hugo nodded. Straightened his cap. He was seriously into it. “Do it.”
They got it on the first try. The comet dissolved. And all that remained was a long, sparkling tail.
FIFTEEN
Those flickering candles in the endless night . . .
—Elizabeth Stiles, Singing in the Void
I don’t usually eat out unless I’m with somebody. My lunches at the country house routinely consist of raiding the refrigerator and munching down a sandwich while I keep working. All the mental-health editors insist that sort of behavior leads to problems, so I’ve promised myself to change. I rarely actually do it, though. But the day after we watched the Brockmaier flight, Alex was out of the building, and I deserved a treat.
There were several places nearby. I decided on Tardy’s, which has good food, decent prices, and soft music. It’s located on a two-by-four island in the Melony, just upstream from the falls.
I like Tardy’s. They’ve dispensed with the bots, everybody’s very friendly, and for reasons I’ve never understood, the place draws good-looking guys. But all the males appeared more or less worn-down or married that day. I ate quietly in one of their booths, looking out at the river, taking my time, not because it was a slow day but because I have a tendency when I eat alone to rush through the meal. So I proceeded deliberately, and even ordered a dessert, some cherry pie, half of which I left because the one problem with Tardy’s is that the portions are too large. When I was a kid, I had the screwball notion that restaurants knew what was best for you, and they gave you precisely what you needed. Finish your plate, love, my mom always used to say. Don’t waste food.
Anyhow, I finished, paid up, and started for the door. But I noticed a woman at one of the tables who jarred my memory. She was tall, thin, serious-looking, not the kind of person, probably, who’d break you up with a funny line. She was eating alone and never looked my way.
I was still thinking about her when I went out the door into the parking lot. Tardy’s had its own, but it was small, and you had to come early to get a space. They had a larger area, across the river, connected to the island by a long, covered viaduct. If you chose, or were forced, to use the viaduct, you could walk or ride on the glideway. I usually parked in the big lot because I enjoyed riding across the river, especially in the late autumn. It was beautiful at that time of year, filled with gulls and galians and all kinds of birds that hung around the restaurant, hoping for a handout. I just made myself comfortable on the glideway and watched the river go past.
The Melony narrowed at that point, so the current moved right along. About a kilometer downriver, it would squeeze into the Chambourg Canyon, accelerate to a roar, blast through a lot of very large rocks, and plunge twenty meters over the Chambourg Falls. The owners of Tardy’s had been trying for years to move the restaurant onto the rocks just above the falls, but fortunately the effort always caused such outrage that the politicians didn’t dare approve it.
I was halfway across when I realized where I’d seen the woman at the table before. She’d been on the train to Carnaiva. She was the one who’d gotten on at Cremation Station. The Mortician.
I looked back at Tardy’s. The place had a ramshackle, boathouse feel. Part of its charm. A bunch of gulls went squawking past. I thought about going back. But coincidences happen.
An hour after I’d returned to the office, Jacob informed me we had a call from Brian Lewis. “He wants to talk to Alex.”
“I’ll take it,” I said.
I’d been trying to track down the whereabouts of the Steven Silver copy of the Confederate Constitution. At the time of the signing, 326 copies were made. One had eventually gotten into the hands of Si
lver, a world-famous collector. He’d died, and it had disappeared. The thing was worth a fortune. Alex had been tracking it for two years, but the trail had gone cold. So I needed a minute to concentrate on the figure materializing in the middle of my office. My first thought was that he wanted to take advantage of the cash offer we’d made for a chance to inspect the tablet. “Hello, Brian,” I said. “How are you doing?”
He did not look happy. “I’ve been better, Chase. Is Alex there somewhere?”
I think I’ve mentioned that Brian was a big guy. When I’d seen him earlier, at the Conneltown field, and out over the ocean, he’d seemed hostile and annoyed. That was gone. He waited in front of me with his guard down. “I’m sorry, Brian, but he’s out with a client. Can I help you?”
“Could you contact him?” He was dressed casually, and appeared to be in the front seat of a parked skimmer. The door was open, and his legs hung out over the edge of the vehicle. I had the distinct sense that he’d been about to go somewhere but had stopped on sudden impulse to make the call.
“I can’t, Brian. He shuts down when he’s out with somebody.”
He wiped his hand against his mouth. Chewed on his lip. “Okay,” he said. He was about to disconnect.
“Brian, what can we do for you?”
He hesitated. Then: “Not a thing, Chase. Sorry to take your time.”
“Must be something,” I said.
“I need to talk to him.”
“About the tablet?”
He climbed down out of the skimmer. It was the Sentinel. “I guess.”
Echo Page 14
