Jack McDevitt - Infinity Beach

He favored decorated shirts and loose trousers tucked into ankle boots. And flashy tunics and wide sashes. In later pictures, after his time with the Tripley Foundation, he’d grown a black beard and let his hair grow to shoulder length. Something about the man in those later years had darkened, intensified. The older Markis Kane gazed out of his photos with equal parts disdain and resignation.

And there was Kane the artist. His posted work consisted primarily of portraits, landscapes, and a few experimental paintings. Most of the portraits were of women. One, dated 575, two years after the Hunter , shocked her.

“That’s you ,” said Solly.

“My God.” It was Emily.

“He was using your sister for a model?”

She looked at the date again. “More or less. He must have used a virtual. This was done two years after she disappeared.”

Emily was posed near a window through which one could see a late summer forest, heaped leaves, and, rising over the trees, a ringed world. Her jacket was draped carelessly over her shoulders, leaving one breast exposed, yet there was no hint of erotic intent. Indeed Emily was simultaneously lovely and forlorn. The work was titled Autumn .

“You’re a little out in the open there,” Solly said.

Autumn , as well as several other pieces, was housed in a gallery at Eagle Point. It might be worth taking a look at them. “Why was he still using Emily?” she wondered.

Solly’s face was green in the glow of the instrument panel. “I wouldn’t expect him to do that unless—”

“What?”

“I’d guess he was in love with her.”

“Or she was still alive.”

“Or both,” he said. “It’s a possibility.”

A story dated 576, three years after the disaster, described how Kane had paid his debts, closed out his accounts, said goodbye to his few friends, and watched the waters of the Severin close over his villa. That was when they took down the dam. He moved to Terminal City.

The flyer crossed the Takonda River, which more or less marked the middle of Equatoria. They ran into a rain storm at about the same time, and the afternoon turned cold. Solly was in a talkative mood, going on about Mount Hope, and how he hoped there would really turn out to be something there. She had mixed feelings, would have liked to solve the old mystery, would have done anything to find out what had happened to Emily. But on the other hand she knew she didn’t want to run into whatever had unnerved Sheyel.

They flew into the twilight. The countryside became progressively rougher. Mountains rose around them. The storm got worse and high winds began to buffet the aircraft. Solly went higher until they could look down on the turbulence.

Eventually the landscape opened out into cultivated areas and farm buildings, silos and lakes. They watched a train moving smoothly across the treetops through the approaching twilight. Then woodland again, broken by a lone house or, enigmatically, a tennis court or swimming pool. There were no roads, of course.

Over 75 percent of Greenway’s population was concentrated in its towns, which were scattered across her thousands of islands, or buried in Equatorian forests. The half-dozen or so major cities of the Republic were now the province of those who pursued active careers, or those who were looking for mates. The rest of the world was satisfied to live near trees and cardinals, watch the train come in once a day, and spend their afternoons fishing.

Eagle Point was by local standards a small metropolis. It straddled both banks of the Severin, thirty-three kilometers north of Mount Hope. Its two sections were connected by a pair of exquisitely designed bridges, which, according to the townspeople, visitors came to see from all over Greenway. Eagle Point also featured skiing on several world-class slopes, natural hot springs, a magnificent walkway seven hundred meters over Dead Man’s Gorge, seven major casinos, and the Cartoonists’ Hall of Fame.

They arrived in the gathering twilight, landed atop the Gateway Inn, checked in, and got directions to the Gould Art Gallery, which was located at ground level a block from the hotel. A man in a heavy black sweater was just finishing with a customer when they arrived. Although he bore no physical indication of advancing age, he moved with a deliberation that suggested he was well along in his second century. “Are you Mr. Gould?” Kim asked.

The man brightened and bowed slightly. “Yes,” he said. “Please call me Jorge. Would you like something hot to drink?”

They accepted some cider and Kim introduced herself and Solly. Gould had a print of Lisa Barton’s Evening on Lyra on display. It was an example of the empyrean school, those works which embodied off-world themes to achieve their effects. The Barton was a self-portrait, depicting the artist in an armchair on a clearly hostile moonscape, contemplating a globular cluster floating over a nearby ridge. Kim had read that the globular cluster in the painting was the one in Serpens, twenty-seven thousand light-years away, vastly outside the human bubble. The painting radiated nobility, solitude, and grandeur, of both the nebula and the woman.

The proprietor noted her interest. “There are only one hundred prints,” he said. “Signed by the artist herself. I can let you have this one at a very reasonable price.”

“Thank you, no,” she said. “But I am interested in Markis Kane. You have his Autumn , I understand?”

“Oh yes. One of his best.” He gazed at Kim, frowned, and sucked in his breath. “That’s remarkable,” he whispered. “Is it really you ?” His voice trembled.

Kim had never seen the man before and she was momentarily at a loss to understand his reaction. “Emily,” he said. Solly moved closer to her.

The model for Autumn .

Kim smiled. “No,” she said. “It’s not me.”

Gould stood back to get a better view. He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’d thought the model had died. Before he did the painting.” He shook his head. “Nevertheless, you are a close match. Are you connected in some way?”

“I’m her sister.”

He pulled his sweater tightly around him, as if to protect from a sudden chill. “I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me.”

“It’s quite all right, Mr. Gould. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes. Of course.” He studied her. “You’re as lovely as she.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

He paused and collected himself. “As I say, I do have the Autumn . But it’s not for sale.”

Solly glanced at her. He expects to hit us pretty hard.

“It’s for display only,” the proprietor continued. “It’s really quite valuable.”

“May we see it?” asked Kim.

“Of course.” He still did not move, still gazed at Kim’s features.

She wanted to break the paralysis. “Tell me about Markis Kane,” she said.

“We have five originals by him. Other than the Autumn . One of them, Glory , also uses Emily as the model.” He led the way through a door at the rear of the building and turned on the lights. Autumn was set in an exquisite, hand-carved wooden frame, mounted on an easel. More lights blinked on, designed to show the work to maximum effect.

Kim studied it. The woman in the window. The line of frost. The leaf-covered lawn. The ringed world just touching the tops of the trees. The planet was setting. There was no conscious way to make that determination, but she knew it to be true. A couple of crescent moons that she didn’t recall from the online image drifted through the gathering night.

Autumn radiated loss . The trees writhed in a dark wind, the giant planet was painted in October colors, and even its rings suggested dissolution.