Starfire a-2

by Charles Sheffield

  The call, when it came, was as good and yet as bad as it could be.

  “We found ’em. They’re all right, but they’ve got stuck on the cliffs. We’ll need a rope.” It was Gloria, red hair darkened by rain and eyebrows beaded with droplets. “Come on. Be sure to put your coat on-it’s pissing down out there.”

  I had never told the girls of my irrational fear of heights. They would expect my immediate presence and assistance. I donned coat and hat and left the castle by the scullery entrance on the seaward side. Otranto Castle is thick-walled and solid, and when I stepped from its sheltering bulk I realized for the first time the severity of the weather. A strong westerly was blowing, driving sheets of rain at me horizontally. As I walked west it was almost impossible to see where I was going.

  That was, I suspect, the only thing that allowed me to walk as far as I did. I knew that ahead stood the three-hundred-foot headland with its sheer drop to the waters of the Atlantic. I told myself that it was not yet close; I had a long way to go before I got to the edge.

  In certain areas, however, I lack the power of self-deception. I came to a point where, try as I might, I could not force my legs to carry me forward. I could hear the wind, howling as it breasted the cliff after its three-thousand-mile journey across the open Atlantic. I could smell brine and seaweed. I struggled to take another step, failed, and sank down on the sodden turf. It took a supreme effort even to look forward. I peered into the driving rain and saw my darlings, a tight cluster of them, perilously close to the edge of the precipice. They were perhaps two hundred yards away, and I could not discern what they were doing.

  I stood up, resolved to take one more step, and again sank to the ground. My thoughts, like my legs, lost the power to move. An endless interval passed before I heard Bridget’s voice.

  “We got ’em,” she said cheerfully. “Hauled ’em up one at a time on the rope. They’d been bird-nesting, the idiots. They ought to have had more sense in this weather.”

  I recalled the cluster of girls I had seen at work. “You all pulled? That’s what I saw you doing?”

  “All except Paula and Amity. They’ve started their period and they’re having cramps.” Bridget reached out. “Here, let me give you a hand. You came quite a long way.”

  She is perhaps the strongest of all my darlings. She reached out and hoisted me easily to my feet.

  I felt a great weariness. “I’m sorry. You don’t know this, but I have a real problem with heights.”

  She stared at me. “Of course we know you can’t stand heights. We’ve all known that for years.”

  I was saved from a reply by the arrival of the other girls in a great chattering throng. Dawn, Willa, and Beth were loudly defensive, insisting that they could have easily climbed back up the cliff by themselves anytime they wanted to. The others complained about being dragged out into the rain to save a set of senseless dummies.

  I walked along in the middle of them. No one spoke to me, and I spoke to no one. But I noticed that they all watched me closely until we were safely inside the castle.

  “Hot drinks all round, I think,” Paula said. And then to me, “You didn’t call GSARS, did you?”

  “I did not.”

  “Good. I bet they’d have made us all fill out their stupid reports. None of us wanted that. You go on into your study. One of us will bring your drink.”

  She was humoring me. She knew about GSARS, which I had not realized. Gloria had insisted that I put on my coat before I left the castle. Bridget had kindly told me that I had come “quite a long way” toward the cliff. Yes, they indeed knew of my terror of heights.

  These were my darlings, sheltered from reality all of their short lives. I wondered, what else did they know?

  It is late on the evening of the same day.

  When the excitement of the rescue at last died down I felt infinitely weary. My brain felt as though it was simply ticking over, barely able to keep my vital functions in operation. I lay back in my favorite chair and thought about Beth, Dawn, and Willa, and of the Global Search-And-Rescue System that I had chosen not to use.

  The modern search-and-rescue system is a direct descendant of one introduced almost a hundred years ago. In its original form, a constellation of satellites in low Earth orbit picked up signals sent out by stranded travelers or others in distress on land or sea. By analyzing frequency shifts and travel times, the location of the emitted signal could be determined and a rescue party dispatched. The old system was a passive one — the spacecraft flew overhead and listened for a signal.

  Suppose, however, that the person in trouble could not send a distress signal because they lacked the necessary equipment, or because that equipment had been damaged. With the original system, such a person could not be located.

  The modern version of search-and-rescue came into worldwide use twenty years before the supernova {it languished, not surprisingly, for ten years after Alpha C, when all low-orbit satellites ceased to operate). Rather than a passive system, requiring that a distress signal be sent out, today’s is an active one. The satellites, sweeping around the Earth, send out tuned signals of their own. These are designed to stimulate a response from a human body — a specific human body. The return signal indicates the exact location of that body. It is no longer necessary to carry a transmitter in order to use the Global Search-and-Rescue System.

  Suddenly I was wide awake. Argument by analogy can be dangerous, but it can also be fruitful. In our quest to catch the Sky City murderer, Seth and I had so far acted passively. We were the equivalent of the old search-and-rescue system. Like it, we could not succeed unless a signal was transmitted: The killer must initiate an unprompted action.

  That was not about to happen. Our murderer did not need to kill again and would do nothing.

  Passive procedure would not suffice. Like the modern search-and-rescue operation, we had to move to an active approach. We must generate a signal able to force a reaction. The murderer must be made to respond to a stimulus created by us.

  I put on the RV helmet and called Seth Parsigian. At last I had something that could fairly be termed an emergency.

  He was wearing the hidden earphone, and answered at once with, “This better be good, Doc. I’ve been digging into Sky City operations, lookin’ for odd stuff that might point to the killer.”

  “Did you discover anything?”

  “No.” His voice seemed to have an added delay. Sky City was on the move outward from Earth. “But I’m finding somethin’ else that’s interestin’ in the data records.”

  “Events relevant to the Sky City murders?”

  “If they are, I don’t see how.”

  “Then they can wait. I know of a way to flush our murderer out of hiding.”

  I described my thoughts on active versus passive procedures, and I made my proposal.

  Seth was silent for a long time. I wished I could see his face, but apparently he was not in his room. I was offered the usual annoying view of an empty apartment. The RV jacket must be hanging in its usual position on the wall.

  “You’re makin’ some awful big assumptions,” he said at last. “Yeah, Doris Wu’s body is still missing. But how do you know it was chucked out into space?”

  “It’s been over six months since she vanished.”

  “It was close to that for Lucille DeNorville, and she still turned up.”

  “I have explained why it was necessary for the murderer that Lucille’s body not be permanently lost. That argument does not apply to Doris Wu. And remember where Doris disappeared: level hundred, at the Sky City perimeter. You yourself offered the suggestion that she had been murdered and dropped out into space. Dump her outside, you said, and centrifugal force would carry her out and away. And you commented that would be pretty risky if any evidence had been left on her.”

  “We got no reason to think it was.”

  “I doubt very much that the murderer was so careless. But we are operating here at the level of doubt and psycholo
gy, not proven fact. Suppose that you were the murderer. You feel somewhat secure, comfortable in the knowledge that months have passed without threat of discovery. Now comes the news: The body of one of your victims has been found out in space. All the others are accounted for, so this is the last possible source of danger to you. Would you not feel an intense urge to confirm that no physical evidence links you to that newly discovered body?”

  “I would. But suppose I knew that Doris Wu’s body wasn’t in space? Suppose I knew that I’d done some-thin’ else with her-chopped her up, or burned her. Maybe I ate her.”

  “This situation is disgusting enough without your adding to it. If you, as murderer, know that Doris Wu is not in space, then you also know that the report of her discovery is bogus. My plan would fail.”

  “I think it will anyway. It sounds real dodgy to me.”

  “Feel free to offer an alternative.”

  “You got me there. All right, I guess we try it. But we need some help from people up here.”

  “That is your department, not mine.”

  “I know a way we might work it. But we can’t do it yet. We hafta wait a few days ’til things settle down a bit on Sky City. Until we’re out at the end of the shield nobody has time for anythin’ but work.”

  “How long?”

  “A couple of weeks. But we’ll get bigger signal delays.”

  “That is inevitable and acceptable. Before we act we must discuss the fine details.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because I have yet to think the matter through. This may be our only chance to catch the murderer, and we cannot afford to act precipitately.” I prepared to end the conversation, but I was struck by one more thought. “I am receiving a useless visual feed from your apartment. Why do you not wear the RV jacket?”

  “For three reasons. First, if you’re not sitting there with the helmet on, an’ mostly you’re not, there’s no point in me sendin’ back scenes of me doin’ the grand tour of Sky City when nobody’s watchin’. Second, it’s damn hot inside that thing.”

  “It is also hot inside this helmet. And the third reason?”

  He hesitated. “It’s them godawful pansy colors. Pink ’n’ purple — who chose ’em? I had four guys hittin’ on me in the first two days.”

  He broke the connection prematurely, leaving me filled with esprit d’escalier. “It is not the jacket, Seth, it is merely your native charm that attracted them.” Or “I’m sure they told you that the colors contrast beautifully with your eyes.”

  Yes, yes. Cheap wit, unworthy of me. Also, in the case of Seth, not without its dangers. I have commented already on his sense of self-preservation. To that let me add his air of latent violence. Far better Seth Parsigian as an ally than an adversary. I must never forget my own vulnerability.

  I am sitting half asleep in my chair, gradually becoming comatose after a long day; but tomorrow’s imagined news lead drifts through my mind:

  Sky City Killer Caught Thanks to Efforts of Determined Pair

  Two men, Seth Parsigian and Oliver Guest, today captured the long-sought Sky City murderer. Seth Parsigian receives a large reward and the thanks of a grateful world. Serial killer and legendary ghoul Oliver Guest goes back tomorrow to continue his sentence of long-term judicial sleep.

  24

  On her previous meetings with Seth Parsigian, Maddy had found him totally focused. This evening he was morose and distracted. Although he was the one who had insisted on the get-together, he acted like a man who had other things on his mind.

  Well, so had she. With every hour that passed, the value of her prized position as Vice President of the Argos Group faded in importance. Gordy Rolfe seemed less the inspired electronics designer and organizing genius behind a huge international corporation, and more the eccentric and unkempt taskmaster who expected work from his minions twenty-four hours a day.

  Those minions apparently included Seth Parsigian. As Sky City wound its slow way out toward its new position, Maddy had made a dozen visits to the engineering information center. She was looking for John Hyslop, but he was never there. Maddy learned that he spent most of his time out at Cusp Station, where the new particle defense system was under construction. The person who was always there, night or day, was Seth. He could usually be found studying a screen displaying scheduled meetings of personnel, timetables for equipment procurement, and recent use of facilities in Sky City and on the shield. If he hoped to pull out of those bald statistics useful information relating to the Sky City murderer, then good luck to him. Maddy felt sure that over the past six months the records had been dissected infinitely finely by scores of investigators.

  When Seth arrived in her room he had a strange expression on his face. Was he still mad because their Sky City wanderings had produced no useful result? He should know, as well as anyone, the golden rule of the Argos Group when it came to cooperation: Your own assignment came first. Someone else’s success would not balance your failure. If he couldn’t find what he wanted, that was his problem.

  He said abruptly, “I think I’m gonna do you a favor. You say you were sent up here to keep an eye on John Hyslop, right?”

  “That’s correct.” Maddy added to herself, And a lousy job I’m making of it.

  “If that isn’t why you’re here, then you better watch it. You’re leavin’ tracks big enough to fall over.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s what you would say, no matter what. Listen hard, ’cause I’m only gonna say this once. When we got nowhere a-walkin’ the halls up here, I had to find me a different tack. I set up shop in the information center. I looked at what people in Sky City was doin’ at the time of each of the murders.”

  “I don’t think you’ll find the killer that way. Other people must have attempted the same thing.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they did. But you see, now I have me an advantage. I know the name of the murderer.” Seth watched Maddy’s reaction. “I guess that’s news to you.”

  “It certainly is. Who is it?”

  “Mebbe I’ll tell you who — in good time. But first you gotta help me some more. An’ I’ll help you. Tit for tat.”

  “Forget it. I’ve done enough for you.”

  He went on as though she had not spoken, “See, it’s not enough to know a name. You still have to catch ’em.”

  “Seth, I’m going. I don’t need to listen to nonsense.”

  “Me neither. So when your buddy John Hyslop came over to talk to me last week, I didn’t much listen at first. Then me an’ him got to talkin’. Want to know what we said?”

  He was goading her, luring her with Hyslop’s name. “Go on.”

  “He’d been catchin’ up on things that happened while he was away, records and actions and materials, that sort of crap. An’ I’d been skimmin’ the data banks. He told me he’d noticed somethin’ peculiar. I told him that I had, too. We compared notes. He told me he didn’t have time to follow up on it, the new defense system was takin’ every minute he had. But what he’d noticed involved the Argos Group, and I was with the Argos Group. So he said, maybe I could take a closer look at it.”

  Why didn’t John ask me? Maddy said, “You’re here for the murders. Argos Group activities seem more like my line of experience than yours.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. Why not you? Me, I’m not a chart-and-figures type. But I doubt Hyslop’s hopin’ to get into my pants, so that could make a difference.”

  “If he wants to get into mine, he’s certainly taking his own sweet time.”

  “As a friend of mine who you’ll never meet an’ would never want to keeps tellin’ me, you have to be patient. Fact is, Hyslop asked me because I was already there an’ already diggin’. So I look at the stuff he’s pulled out, compare it with mine, an’ guess what? Some of the Argos Group records are awful strange. If I had to guess, I’d say there’s fiddlin’ going on that don’t sound like violins.”

  “Cheati
ng?”

  “Records of deliveries that were never made. Double entries for shipments. Differences between stated quantities delivered and shop counts. I’d call that cheatin’.”

  “I have nothing to do with shipments.”

  “I hear you. But again, that’s what you’d say if you did. And there’s more: defective materials in vital places. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that some Argos Group actions were designed to slow shield development, ’stead of speedin’ it up.”

  “What do you propose to do about this?”

  “Me? I’ll do nothin’. Like you said, it’s not my job. I don’t care if old Gordy is robbin’ Bruno Colombo and his boys blind.”

  “So why are you telling me?”

  “To let you know that if you are playin’ games, you better stop. And why am I doin’ that? Well, I said I was gonna do you a favor, an’ you’re wonderin’ why. So I’ll tell you. You can do me a favor, too. I got a job to do, an’ I don’t want it screwed up by a bunch of morons in green eyeshades countin’ the spoons an’ clutterin’ up every room on Sky City. So, a word to the wise: If you’re the one doin’ it, stop right now. ’Til I’m done, that is. After that, it’s all yours, I don’t care what you do.”

  A decision sitting at the back of Maddy’s brain jumped to the foreground. “I never had anything to do with shortchanging Sky City on deliveries, or ruining schedules. But even if I had, it’s irrelevant. I’m leaving the Argos Group.”

  His attention had been wandering, as though the meeting had served its purpose and was now ending. He jerked back to face Maddy. “You’re gonna quit?”

  “You’ve got ears. Yes.”

  Brown eyes bored into hers. “You serious? Yeah, I can see you are. Bet you don’t do it, though. What’s your problem? You think Gordy’s ready to be taken to the funny farm?”

  “He is, but it’s more than that.” And what was it? Maddy needed time to think. Seth’s words had started a whole new chain of logic running in her head: about John Hyslop and his changing assignments, about her own role and the timing of events. Aware of her long silence, she added, “I’m not even sure I’ll go back to Earth. Not for a while.”