Charles Sheffield - Starfire

He broke the connection, rather before I was ready to do so. It had been my intention to warn him to take care. The murderer would certainly be willing to kill again for one reason: to prevent discovery.

Then my rational processes gave me reassurance. Even if Seth’s wanderings through Sky City had been noticed, there was no reason to believe that our search would be more fruitful than anyone else’s. The evidence was old or vanished. Furthermore, Seth had in the past given ample proof that he was able to look after himself. He would not be an easy man to kill.

I reflected that Seth’s final words showed, in his own bizarre way, sincere appreciation for my efforts. I had done “some fancy thinking,” just as he said. As for “Do it one more time,” I wondered if that would be possible.

I am not ready to say otherwise, although I have in truth no idea how to catch our killer. What I do have is a conviction that waiting for another murder, or seeking additional evidence of past murders, will be pointless. We are dealing with an individual who employs precise calculation before taking action. Twelve murders were enough, so there will be no more. And such material evidence as has already been found has been picked clean, over and over, by numerous investigating teams. It is old and unlikely to yield a single further shred of useful data. The killer must be feeling very comfortable.

How, then, to catch such a person?

Again I defer to you, the invisible reader of my words. You were ahead of me, perhaps, in divining the identity of the murderer. Do you also know how to ensure apprehension? Remember, the evidence must be strong, direct, and incontestable.

I do not know. Not yet. But I do know this: No passive procedure will work. Any successful approach must take the initiative.

The conversation with Seth took only half an hour, but by the time I went to my bedroom the clock on the dresser showed almost four. After a busy day — and night — l had earned, one might think, a little sleep. However, at fifty-five degrees north the late-July sunrise already lightened the sky. Long experience has taught me that I cannot sleep during daylight hours.

I went back to the kitchen, made strong coffee, and sat down at the long butcher-block table to record the events of the past twenty-four hours. I was very tired, and my mind interspersed memories of the pleasant birthday party with thoughts of the Sky City murders. Regrettably, I achieved no insights comparable with those of the great Henri Poincare after partaking of black coffee. However, one useful conclusion did emerge.

During the next few weeks, unprecedented events would be taking place on Sky City as it flew far out from Earth to take its position close to Cusp Station. It was possible that those same events would provide an unprecedented opportunity to catch our killer.

I had been patient in restoring my darlings, waiting many years before I began their cloning. Seth and I could not wait so long, but we, too, must be patient — and always ready to act.

It took Nick Lopez three tries before Celine was persuaded.

“You don’t have to like the son of a bitch,” he said. “Hell, I don’t like him myself. But he’s the brains behind the rolfe designs, and all the related patents are his.”

“I don’t deny that.” Celine felt besieged. She had tried to begin a normal day of work, but urgent messages from Lopez had popped up everywhere until finally she had agreed to meet with him in the Oval Office. It was almost ten o’clock, she had yet to make her first planned meeting, and her schedule was in tatters. “I know how valuable the rolfes are for space work, but we already have a slew of them in Sky City and on the shield. If Rolfe says he’s pulling them out of there, we’ll simply invoke emergency powers and say no.”

“That’s not the problem.” Lopez pulled a sheaf of papers from his case and brandished them at Celine. “These are orders from Sky City for additional rolfes with special new capabilities. We know that Gordy Rolfe can provide the machines — he has advertised them, even boasted about them. We’d like to see them shipped up as soon as possible, but without Rolfe’s cooperation it won’t happen. He laughs and says the changes are trivial; but no one on my staff or on Sky City knows how to make them.”

“Have you asked him to cooperate?”

“Of course. I told him about Wilmer Oldfield and Star Vjansander’s work, and I stressed the urgency of the new schedule. He says it’s all nonsense. He’s heard all the panic talk from me before, and he doesn’t believe there’s going to be a different form of particle storm. Even if there is, he says, he’ll be safe.”

“Probably true. He’ll hide underground. But I don’t see how I’ll be any better at talking Rolfe into helping us than you’ve been.”

“He likes you.” Lopez was pouring on the charm. Celine could feel the force of his personality washing over her like a relaxing tide.

“Nick, that’s rubbish. I don’t think Gordy Rolfe likes anyone.”

“He says he’s willing to meet with you. That’s better than I could do.”

“You tried?”

“I called him again yesterday. He told me to go away and stick my head up my ass.”

“That’s not very nice. On the other hand, Gordy Rolfe told one of my staff, less than a month ago, that I was a raddled old trollop who’d be more at home in the whorehouse than the White House. Likes me? Nick, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Well, he did agree to meet with you.”

“Why?”

“Because he admires you. You’re probably the one woman in the world—”

“Nick! Gordy Rolfe doesn’t admire any woman. He tolerates a few, but I’m not one of them.”

He sagged back in his suit and ran a hand through his bushy gray hair. His frown of defeat was more friendly and disarming than the average smile. “All right. So he doesn’t admire you. I have no idea what that twisted little runt thinks of you. My best guess, he says he’ll meet with you because he thinks there’s a chance he’ll be able to humiliate you. Me, he’s already humiliated.”

“Thank you, Nick. At last. That, I can accept. Now tell me how I’m supposed to talk Gordy Rolfe into coughing up the rolfes that we need on Sky City.”

“He needs your help. You’ve got something he wants.”

“Remind me.”

“Well, according to what I’ve heard — only rumor, of course . . .” Lopez was gazing down and sideways, as though fascinated by the old wicker wastepaper basket beside Celine’s desk. “According to rumor, you promised you’d help the Argos Group with a license for a new launch facility on U.S. territory, off the coast of Florida.”

“How the hell did you learn that ? What I said was unofficial, and it wasn’t to go outside this office.”

“Oh, you know how it is.” A shrug of massive shoulders. “Word about these things gets out . . .”

“If you see Auden Travis before I do, tell him to expect to be sent up in flames. Do you know who I said that to about the license?”

“A Miss Maddy Wheatstone. Or so I have been told. But Gordy’s having doubts about her. He’s having doubts about everybody these days. I think he’s really losing it. But that’s to our advantage. You go to see him, you tell him that you promised nothing to anybody, and you negotiate.”

“A bit hard on Maddy.”

“Could be. These days, times are hard all over. She’s a big girl, she’ll get by. I’ll try to do her a favor, if that’s what it takes to get you to Gordy.”

“We’ll put that on hold.” Celine was examining her calendar. “Today, I suppose?”

“You know how urgent this is.”