Polaris (32 page)

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.

It (the pulsar) is like those of us who seek final answers from the sciences: It casts its beams wildly about in all directions, but they touch nothing, reveal nothing, and in the end they lead only to confusion.

—Timothy of Esperanza,
Journals

It became an interesting evening. The snowstorm renewed itself and turned into a howling blizzard, there was an earthquake warning at about the time we were going to bed, and a few hours later they evacuated the hotel because a yoho got into the building.

The yohos, it turned out, were arthropodic creatures with a taste for people. Fortunately, they only showed up five days out of the year, which coincided with their breeding season, and on those occasions they rarely left the beach. After an hour standing in the snow, we were informed by management that the yoho had gone, everything was okay, and we could go back in. When we got to our suite, we inspected it carefully and locked the doors.

The quake hit shortly after we got back inside, but it amounted to nothing more than a series of moderate tremors. By then I had no interest in turning off the lights, so I went into the sitting room and spent time with Alex, who was engaged in a VR conversation. He handed me a headband. I put it on, and Chek Boland's avatar appeared. He was relaxed on a beach in a collapsible chair, wearing khaki shorts and a pullover and a
wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off. There was no ocean visible, or audible, however. The beach went on forever.

“
. . .
one son,”
he was saying. “
His name was Jon. He was twenty at the time of the
Polaris.
”

“What happened to your marriage, Dr. Boland? If you don't mind my asking.”

“I think Jennifer and I got bored. That's inevitable in any long-term relationship.”

“You don't really believe that?”

“I'm a psychiatrist. I see it all the time.”

Alex was nothing if not traditional about such matters. He allowed his expression to reflect his disapproval of the comment, as if he were talking with a real person. “I read somewhere,” he said, “that sixty percent of all marriages endure. That they stay together.”

“They tolerate each other, usually from a sense of duty. To the kids, generally. To their vows. To an inability to inflict pain on someone they think loves them.”

“You're pretty pessimistic about the institution.”

“I'm a realist. Long-term marriage is a trap that has survived from our beginnings in the forest, when it was the only way to guarantee species survival. That is no longer the case. Hasn't been for thousands of years.”

“Then why has it survived?”

“Because we've invested it with so much mythology. It's the sanctum sanctorum of adolescent giddiness. It is the sentence we impose on our lives because we watch too much romantic drama. And maybe because people are too scared of being alone.”

“Okay.”

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”
He glanced down at his arm and made a face.
“Getting burned,”
he said. A new shirt appeared, with longer sleeves.

“Yes. There is something more.” In the background I could see a gathering dust storm. It's the sort of thing that some folks use not too subtly to suggest they have more important things to do than continue the conversation. But this was an avatar. Boland, I decided, had had a sense
of humor. “You were a crusader,” continued Alex. “You gave time and energy to all sorts of causes.”

“Nonsense. I made an occasional contribution. No more than that.”

“You supported sweeping changes in education.”

“We've never known how to ignite a thirst for knowledge in our kids. Individual parents sometimes figure it out. But the institutions? They've been an unmitigated disaster for as long as anyone can remember.”

“You were a spokesman for Big Green.”

“People on Rimway don't notice yet the damage they're doing. But spend a few weeks on Earth. Or Toxicon. Now there's a world that's well named.”

“You were an advocate for population control.”

“Of course.”

“Is there really a population problem, Doctor? There are hundreds of summer worlds out there, with hardly anybody living on them. Some are empty.”

“Where are we now?”

“Sacracour.”

“Ah. Yes. A perfect example of your point. As of the last census, there are two hundred eighty-eight thousand six hundred fifty-six persons living on Sacracour. Almost all of them are concentrated along the eastern coast of one of its continents.”

“If you say so.”

“Three other major land masses, including a supercontinent, are virtually empty.”

“That's exactly my point.”

“The population on Earth is currently eleven billion. Plus or minus a few hundred million. They are pressed very hard.”

“But we could move them elsewhere. We have options.”

“Yes, we do. But moving whole populations to even the friendliest of worlds is not one of them.”
His features hardened.
“Do the math, Alex. Do the math.”

“You're talking about resources to move people?”

“Of course.”

“So we dedicate everything we have to the operation.”

It was time for me to break in. “There aren't enough ships, Alex,” I said. “No matter what, there aren't enough ships.”

“The young lady is right. There are currently one thousand sixty-four superluminals in the Confederacy, with an average passenger capacity of twenty-eight people. Three will accommodate more than a hundred; many, as few as four. In fact, if you use the entire fleet, you still don't have enough capacity to move thirty thousand people. Assuming you make a round-trip every week with everything you have, which would be pushing it, you might be able to transport one million five hundred sixty thousand people a year. Round it off to one point six million.

“Toxicon's population growth is less than one percent. That shows restraint. But it still comes to five million births annually. So the population of Toxicon produces people three times faster than the entire fleet could haul them away.”

Alex could see he'd lost that argument. “You're also opposed to reconstructing personalities.”

“Yes.”

“But that's what you did for a living. For almost eight years. And not just for criminals.”

“I believed in it at first.”
He stopped, as if to think what he wanted to say.
“Alex, some of my patients were so fearful of the world around them that they couldn't get through their lives.”

“Fearful of the world around them? What does that mean?”

“It means they were afraid they'd fail. Or be rejected. They thought they might simply be inadequate. Drugs could be made to work for some. But there were others whose psyches were too delicate, and some, too twisted.”

“Suicides waiting to happen?”

“Or criminal or other types of antisocial behavior.”
His eyes closed, and for a moment he said nothing more. Finally, he looked up.
“I wanted to give them decent lives. I wanted to take away the fear, to give them reason to respect themselves. I wanted them to be proud of who they were. So I changed them. Made them better.”

“Except—”

“Except that I came to realize that the person who emerged from the treatment was not the person who came to me for help. The old memories were gone. The former life was gone. The person behind the eyes was a stranger. I could have given my patients new names, and they would not have known the difference.”

“But if these people were miserable—”

“I did not have license to impose a death sentence!”
His voice shook.
“But that was what I did. In more than a hundred cases. And that doesn't count the assorted killers, kidnappers, thieves, and thugs I was called on to treat.”
He delivered the final word with venom.
“There has to be a way to untangle even the most diseased psyche. To keep the essence of the individual while softening the more abrasive qualities.”

“But you never found it.”

“No.”

“Why did you make the flight on the
Polaris
?”

His mood changed.
“How could I not? Who'd want to miss a show like that? Moreover, if you want the truth, I was pleased to be associated with Mendoza and White and Urquhart and the others.”

The records showed that Boland had kept his avatar current. The last update had been from Indigo, just before the
Polaris
left on the final leg of the mission. So I felt free to ask how things had gone up to that point.

He smiled.
“On the first leg of the flight, we were like kids.”

“You mentioned kidnapping a moment ago. Did you and your colleagues plan to kidnap Tom Dunninger?”

“Ridiculous.”

“Had he planned such a thing, would Dr. Boland have informed you?”

“No,”
he said.
“It would have been imprudent.”

We left Sacracour, as we came, in the dark. It would be another nine hours before Gobulus rose, and eleven or twelve before the sun showed up. We were loaded with local treats, more desserts than I should have been eating. We were still getting snow and strong winds. The local authorities put out a traffic advisory, suggesting everyone stay put, but we didn't
want to miss the ride up to the orbiter, or we'd be stuck another thirty hours. So we left the hotel on schedule. The flight was uneventful, and we caught the shuttle with time to spare.

It was a fifty-minute run up to the orbital dock, where we got our departure time (which would be four hours later), boarded the
Belle-Marie,
unloaded the bags, showered, and went back to the concourse for dinner.

We ate too much and finished off with a couple of drinks. By then it was almost time to go. We returned to the ship, and I went onto the bridge to do my preflight. I can't tell you that I actually saw a problem, but Belle seemed to be slow posting the status for some of the systems. I wasn't sure whether it was my imagination at work. But I asked her if anything was wrong.

“No, Chase,”
she said.
“Everything's fine.”

Well, okay. The numbers all checked out, and I informed operations that we were ready to leave. “At your discretion,” as the line goes.

They told me to stand by. There'd been a delay of some sort getting a freighter loaded.
“You'll be a few minutes late,”
they said.

I went back and talked to Alex. I don't remember what about. He was distracted, and I knew he was thinking about Shawn Walker and the
Peronovski.
We waited a half hour before Ops cleared us for departure.

“Lock down, Alex,” I told him. Moments later the green light came on, signaling he was secure. “Okay, Belle,” I said. “Let's head out.”

I always enjoy casting off the umbilicals and getting under way. Don't ask me why. It's not as if I'm anxious to get to the next port, but I like the feeling of leaving things behind. First it's the station, then the blue globe of the world itself starts getting smaller. And eventually even the sun winks out. I tied the engines into the quantum generator so it would begin charging. We'd need nine hours to store sufficient energy to make the jump to Rimway.

Quantum technology had taken the tedium out of long-range flight. But it had also eliminated most of the romance. It was all very simple now. And almost too quick. You wanted to go from Rimway to East Boston, you ate a couple of meals, watched a VR, maybe napped a bit,
and when the lamps came on indicating the system was sufficiently charged, you pressed a button. And there you were. You needed a few days after you got to the target system to make your approach. But basically, it was an eyeblink. The range was limited only by the strength of the charge you could pack into the system.

People had once complained that the Armstrong engines, with their ability to tunnel through linear space, had resulted in our losing track of how truly big the Orion Arm was. And how far from home the Veiled Lady really was. Now, you were in and out. Virtually teleported, with no sense of having gone anywhere. Distance, range, deep space, the light-year, had all gone away. And as it always seems to be with progress, you pay a price. The price might be in reduced safety, or in social dislocations, or, as was the case with the quantum drive, in losing touch with reality.

I turned the conn over to Belle and wandered back into the common room with Alex. That's a joke, really. Belle did pretty much everything in flight. I was there in case of emergency.

I wasn't looking forward to going home. It had been nice to be away from Rimway and feel safe again. Given my way, I'd have opted for an old-fashioned long flight this time. I felt secure inside the metal cocoon. I'd even have considered staying on at Sacracour, despite the blizzards and the quakes and the yohos. At least you could see the yohos coming.