Polaris (5 page)

The next room might have been a VR chamber. We checked the equipment, which was locked in place, and in fact everything in that room was secured, and the door had been closed, so it was in decent condition. Not that the equipment would work, of course. But it looked good. And I could see Alex brighten, mentally tagging some of the gear for shipment home.

Then we found more signs of vandals, more damage to stationary objects. “They probably came in on a looting expedition,” he said. “Got exasperated at the conditions, and started breaking things up.”

Yeah. Those looters are just terrible.

But maybe they'd gotten discouraged too soon. We eventually wandered into what appeared to be the control room. And that was where we found the jade bracelet. And the corpse.

The bracelet was on the left wrist. It was black, and engraved with an ivy branch.

The corpse was in pieces, and the pieces were adrift. The torso was moving across the deck when we moved in. At first I didn't know what it was. It was mummified, and it looked as if it had been either a woman or a child. While we were trying to decide about that, I discovered the bracelet. The arm was the only limb still attached.

It wasn't readily visible unless you handled the remains. Don't ask me why I did. It was just that the corpse shouldn't have been there, and I wondered what had happened.

And there was the bracelet. “I think she got left behind,” I told Alex. There was no sign of a pressure suit, so she hadn't been with the vandals.

We had nothing to wrap her in, no way to secure the body. Alex stood staring at her a long time. Then he looked around the room. There were three control positions. They opened the outer doors remotely, maintained station stability, managed communications, kept an eye on life support, probably controlled the bots that serviced the living quarters.

“I think you're right,” he said at last.

“Probably didn't check when they left to be sure they had everybody.”

He looked at me. “Maybe.”

She was shriveled, dry, the face smoothed out, the features missing altogether. I thought how it must have been when she realized she'd been left behind. “If it really happened,” Alex said, “it had to have been deliberate.”

“You mean, because she could have called them? Let them know she was here?”

“That's one reason.”

“If they were shutting down the station,” I said, “they'd have killed the power before they left. She might not have known how to turn it back on.” He rolled his eyes. “So what other reason is there?”

“They'd have used a team for a project like shutting down the station. There's no way someone could have been here and not noticed what was going on. No. This was deliberate.”

Three walls had been converted into display screens. There was lots of electronic gear. The rear wall, the one the corpse was climbing, was given over to an engraving of the mountain eagle that for centuries was the world symbol of the Shenji Imperium. Two phrases were inscribed below the eagle.

“What's it say?” I asked.

Alex had a translator. He poked the characters into it and made a face. “
The Compact.
It's the way the Shenji of that era referred to their nation, which was a polity of individual states.
The Compact.
” He hesitated. “The second term is harder to translate. It means something like
Night Angel.
”

“Night Angel?”

“Well, maybe
Night Guardian.
Or
Angel of the Dark.
I think it's the name of the station.”

An outstation always had a dozen or so rooms set aside as accommodations for travelers. You want to stay overnight, and maybe even sneak someone into your apartment without the rest of the world finding out, this was the place to do it. The room usually consisted of a real bed, as opposed to the fold-outs on the ships. Maybe a chair or two. A computer link. Possibly a small table and a reader.

The compartments at the Night Angel were located two decks above the control room and about a kilometer away. We were looking to see if any appeared to have been lived in, but the passage of time was too great, and the contents of the rooms too thoroughly scrambled, so it was impossible to determine whether any of them might have been used by the victim.

Eventually, we opened an airlock and, after retrieving the bracelet, gave the body to the void. I wasn't sure it was the proper thing to do. After all, she'd been dead a long time and had herself become an object of archeological interest. I had no doubt Survey would have liked to have the corpse. But Alex wouldn't hear of it. “I don't like mummies,” he said. “Nobody should be put on display after they're dead. I don't care how long ago they died.”

Sometimes he got sentimental.

So we watched her drift away, then we went back inside. The best finds came out of one of the dining rooms. Fortunately, everything there had been locked down, and it was in good condition. We spent two hours gathering glasses and plates and chairs, and especially stuff that had the station's name on it,
Night Angel.
That's where the money is. Anything
with a seal. We also collected circuit boxes, switches, keyboard panels whose Shenji inscriptions, after a careful cleaning, were still visible. We removed vents and blowers and the AI (a pair of gray cylinders) and a water nozzle and a temperature gauge and a hundred other items. It was by far our best day at the outstation.

We found a group of seventeen wineglasses, carefully stored, each glass engraved with the image of the mountain eagle. That alone would be worth a small fortune to a collector. We needed two more days to haul everything back to the
Belle-Marie.

Alex, celebrating our success, gave me a raise and invited me to take a couple of souvenirs. I picked out some settings, dinner dishes, saucers, cups, and silver. Everything except the silver was made of cheap plastic, but, of course, that didn't matter.

When we'd filled
Belle
's storage area, there were still some decent items left over. Not great stuff, but okay. We could have come back to get them, made another flight, but Alex said no. “It'll be part of the bequest to Survey.”

By God he was a generous man.

“We've got the pick of the merchandise,” he continued. “Survey will send the rest of it around to every major museum in the Confederacy. And they'll be representing us. Everywhere they go on display, Rainbow will be mentioned.”

As we slipped away from the platform, Alex asked what I made of the corpse.

“Left by a boyfriend,” I suggested. “Or a husband.”

Alex looked at me oddly, as if I'd said something unreasonable.

History is a collection of a few facts and a substantial assortment of rumors, lies, exaggerations, and self-defense. As time passes, it becomes increasingly difficult to separate the various categories.

—Anna Greenstein,
The Urge to Empire

We left the Shenji outstation just after breakfast on the tenth day. We used nine hours to charge the quantum drive, so we were back in the home system in time for a late dinner. Of course, we needed another two days to travel from the arrival point to Skydeck, the Rimway orbital station.

I was in favor of calling a press conference to announce our find, but Alex asked me coolly who I thought would come.

“Everybody,” I said, honestly surprised that he didn't see the advantage in culling maximum publicity out of the discovery.

“Chase, nobody cares about a two-thousand-year-old space station.
You
do, for obvious reasons. And a handful of collectors. And maybe some researchers. But to the general public, it's not sexy. It's just a piece of leftover junk.”

So okay. I gave in, grumbling a bit over a lost opportunity to talk to the media people. I confess I enjoy the spotlight, and I love being interviewed. So while we cruised into the inner system, I contented myself by putting together an inventory and writing a cover letter detailing what we'd found. Alex changed the emphasis here and there, and we
transmitted it to our assorted clients and other possibly interested parties, and also to most of the major museums on Rimway. It described a dozen or so of the objects we'd brought back, advising prospective buyers to get in touch if they wanted to see the complete inventory. So when we docked at Skydeck, nobody was there, and no bands played. But we already had a few bids.

And that evening, back in Andiquar, we had a celebratory dinner at Culp's on the Tower.

By morning we'd had more than a hundred responses. Everybody wanted details, most inquired about starting negotiations, and others wanted to know when they could see specified objects. I referred the money issues to Alex, while I arranged to have the merchandise shipped down from orbit.

Rainbow had always been a profitable venture for him, and it had provided a good situation for me. It paid better than running around in an interstellar bus, it was less disruptive to my personal life, and in fact I loved the work.

It's an odd thing about collectors. The value of an artifact tends to be in direct proportion to the proximity the object would have had to the original owner, or at least the degree to which it could have been seen or handled by him. That's why dinner plates and glasses are so popular, why a collector will pay good money for a panel board, while turning thumbs down on the recycler or generator that it controlled.

If Alex had been one of those people given to framing an epigraph and hanging it on the wall, it would have read,
THE PAYOFF
'
S IN FLATWARE
. People love dishes and cups and forks and, if the historical background is right, they'll pay almost anything to own them. Especially if a ship's seal is present. The truth about our customers was that none of them was going to show up at the bargain store. In fact, it had become obvious to me that, unlike standardized goods, antiquities tend to become more sought after as the price goes up.

The routine work took several days. By the end of the week money had begun to come in, and we were shipping off the first Night Angel objects. Although we hadn't communicated directly with Survey, they'd learned of
the find, as we knew they would, and the director got in touch with Alex. Where was the outstation? Was there any chance they could see it? Alex said he would try to arrange something. It was, of course, the signal for us to demonstrate our munificence. “How did you want to handle it?” I asked.

“
You
take care of it, Chase. Go see Windy.”

“
Me?
Don't you think you should do this personally? Give it to Ponzio himself? You're making a pretty big donation.”

“No. I'd have a hard time containing myself. If we're going to get maximum value out of this, humility is the way to go.”

“You're not good at that.”

“My thought exactly.”

Winetta Yashevik was the archeological liaison at Survey, and an old friend. We'd gone to school together. She didn't approve of Alex because of his profession. Turning antiquities into commodities and selling them to private buyers struck her as grossly incorrect. When I'd gone to work for Rainbow twelve years earlier she told me it was a sellout.

But she listened carefully while I described what we'd seen. She gazed at the ceiling with a help-me-stay-calm-Lord expression when I told her we'd taken “some” of the artifacts, and finally nodded solemnly when I announced the gift.

“Everything you couldn't carry off, I presume?” We were sitting on a love seat in Windy's office. Old pals. It was a big office, on the second floor of the Kolman building. Lots of pictures from the missions on the paneled walls, a few awards. Winetta Yashevik, employee of the year; Harbison Award for Outstanding Service; Appreciation from the United Defenders for contributions to their Toys for Kids program. And there were pictures of dig sites. I recognized the collapsed towers at Ilybrium, but the others were just people standing around excavations.

“We could have gone back,” I said. “We could have stripped the place clean.”

She stared at me intensely for a moment, then relented. Windy was tall, dark, send-in-the-cavalry. She'd trained originally to be an archeologist, and had some field experience. She had a lot of good qualities, but
she wasn't someone
I'd
have put in a position that required diplomacy and tact. “How'd you find it?” she asked.

“The archives.”

A water clock in a corner of the room made a gurgling sound. “Incredible,” she said.

“There's something else,” I said. “We found a corpse. A woman.”

“Really? You mean an
old
corpse?”

“Yes. It looked as if she was left behind when they cleared out.”

“No idea why? Or who she was?”

“None.”

“We'll look into it when we get there. Maybe we can turn up something. I don't suppose you brought it back with you?”

I hesitated. “We put it out the airlock.”

Her eyes closed, and she stiffened. “You put
what
out the airlock?”

“The corpse.” I wanted to say, hey, it wasn't my idea, it was Alex, you know how he is. But I didn't want her going after my employer and saying how I'd pointed the finger at him.

“Chase,” she said, “you
didn't.
”

“Sorry.”

“Hell of a time for you two to get a conscience.”

The windows began to darken. Storm coming. It seemed like a good time to change the subject. “Alex thinks there are a dozen more of them out there.”

“Corpses?”

“Outstations.”

“As far as we can tell, the Shenji built a lot of them.” People had started establishing outstations almost as soon as they'd left the home world. “Listen, Chase: If he finds another one, how about letting us take a look first? Before you guys charge in.”

“This one took him the better part of two years.”

She sighed at the injustice of it all. “We've had people devote whole lifetimes and come away empty.”

“Alex is pretty good at what he does, Windy.”

She got up, walked over to the window, turned her back to it, and half sat against the sill. “You want nothing in return?” she asked.

“No. It's free and clear.” I handed her a chip. “This is the location. And the transfer of all rights.”

“Thank you. We'll see that you get full credit.”

“You're welcome. I hope you find it useful.”

She opened a drawer in her desk and put the chip inside. “I'll have the director get back to Alex. Express his appreciation.”

“That would be nice,” I said. “And by the way I have something for
you.
” I'd brought a couple of samples with me, pieces from the life-support system, a section of tubing, a filter, and a tiny motor. I took them out of my carrying case and held them out to her. Now this is not going to seem like much to the casual reader, but I knew Windy, and I watched the tension drain away and saw her eyes light up. She reached out tentatively for them, and I put them in her hands.

She held them, letting the centuries flow through her, then she put them on the desk and hugged me. “I appreciate it, Chase,” she said. “You're okay.”

“You're welcome,” I said.

“But I still think you two are grave robbers.”

Ten minutes later she was walking me into the office of the director. His name was Louis Ponzio. A man of boundless importance. Ramrod straight. Used to giving directions. Took himself very seriously.

He was a little guy, narrow eyes, narrow nose, lots of energy. Always ready to shake your hand and take you into his confidence. You and I know how things are, he seemed to say. We can trust each other. You always knew when he was in the room. And you knew he was accustomed to getting his way. He was
Dr. Ponzio.
Nobody would ever have called him
Louie.

Windy explained about the Shenji platform, and Ponzio smiled and tried to look overwhelmed by it all. I didn't know him that well, but he was a mathematician and a political appointment. That was a double whammy. Political appointments were inevitably people who were getting paid off. And I'd had several bad experiences with mathematicians over the years. Never knew one who could get passionate about anything other than sex and numbers. And not necessarily in that order.

We shook hands all around. Filled the glasses for everyone. He'd always admired Rainbow's efforts. If there was anything he could do, please don't hesitate.

I always say that when you do the right thing, you get rewarded. Windy did some research and was able to date the outstation a little more precisely than we had, to the end of the Imperium years.

A couple of days later she called me at home in a state of suppressed excitement.
“I think I know who the victim was.”

I'd slept late, and was just getting out of the shower. Since I wasn't appropriately dressed, we stayed on audio. “Who?”

“Lyra Kimonity.”

“Is she someone I should know?”

“Probably not. She was the first wife of Khalifa Torn.”

Ah. Torn I knew. Attila. Bogandiehl. Torn. Three of a kind. He had finished off the Imperium, seized power for himself, and ruled four years, murdering millions, before his own guards took him out. He had seen no need for the outstations, which were simply a drain on the treasury, so he shut them down.

“Torn liked to sleep with the wives of his staff and officers. Lyra made a fuss.”

“Ah.”

“She disappeared.”

“What makes you think it was her at the outstation?”

“Most historians think he exiled her. His stooges might have misunderstood his intention, because later he changed his mind. Tried to get her back. Or maybe he just forgot his original instructions. Anyhow, the person he'd given her to couldn't produce her. When he found out the details of what had happened—the archives don't specify what
that
was—he executed the people responsible. One of them was”
—she paused to look at her notes—
“Abgadi Diroush. And there was a second one whom he personally drowned. Berendi Lakato. Lakato was responsible for shutting down the outstations. And Diroush headed up the team that actually did the work. In any case, Lyra was never seen again.”

“Well,” I said, “that's good news.”

That startled her.
“How do you mean?”

“Makes the artifacts more valuable. Everybody loves a monster. You don't think he ever visited the station personally, do you?”

She let me see that she was shocked.
“No,”
she said,
“I don't think so. He didn't like to travel. Afraid somebody might seize power while he was gone.”

“That's a pity.”

“I sent you a picture of her.”

I put it on-screen. Lyra had been a red-haired beauty. Big almond eyes. A fetching smile. I wondered how she'd gotten involved with Khalifa. And it occurred to me it's not always an advantage to look good.

“Look at the wrist,”
she said.

I knew what I was going to find: the jade bracelet. And there it was. I could even make out the sprig of ivy.

“Is it the same as the one you found?”

“Yes.”

“That confirms it, then.”

“Yeah.” Lyra was maybe twenty-two when the picture was taken. “How old would she have been?”

“We can't get it exactly, but she was still young. Twenty-seven, maybe.”

I thought about her, marooned on the station. I wondered whether they'd at least left the lights on for her.