Jack McDevitt - Infinity Beach

Interstellar, Inc., was located behind a pair of frosted-glass double doors. A young dark-skinned woman looked up from a desk as she entered. “Good afternoon, Dr. Brandywine,” she said. “They’re waiting for you. Please follow me.”

She showed Kim into a compact conference room. A recording crew was already at work, setting up for pictures. Averill Hopkin arrived on her heels, looking frazzled. After a minute’s conversation Kim realized he didn’t like making presentations. He was nervous and irritated, and not at all anxious to participate in a public forum. But there’d been no easy way out for him, and so here he was, his gaze running between Kim, the lectern, and the time. “I hate these things,” he told her.

“It’s the price of being celebrated,” she said, keeping her amusement out of her voice. She thought briefly about advising him that 90 percent of everything is public relations, but prudently let it pass.

“I’ve just got more important things to do, Kim,” he said. She put a hand on his arm. It was rigid. “I’m not good at this sort of thing,” he persisted.

“Relax, Avy.” She gave him an encouraging smile. One of her best. “You’ve nothing to prove. All they want is for you to be here. You could fall over a chair, and they’d think that’s just the way genius behaves.”

He nodded solemnly, accepting the accolade without a flicker of humility.

The lectern was set on a low platform at the front of the conference room, flanked by four chairs and a side table. Behind it, the company shield hung proudly on the wall, framed by blue and white bunting, Interstellar’s colors. Kim had kept the award in its container, which she now placed on the side table after showing it to Hopkin.

Corporate employees were beginning to come in. She knew a couple of the executives, and she introduced the physicist to them. They fawned over him, and she was pleased to see him calm down somewhat.

A tall, blond woman entered and everyone snapped to attention. This, Kim knew, was Magda Kenneal, Tripley’s chief administrative assistant. Magda took over, introduced herself to Hopkin, said hello distractedly to Kim, and began giving directions. There were now about twenty people in the room. After she’d gotten everyone satisfactorily seated, Magda apparently got a signal from somewhere. She nodded, stepped behind the lectern and the conversation stopped. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “I’d like to welcome you here this morning. As you may be aware, Mr. Tripley has long been a staunch supporter of the Seabright Institute—”

She continued in that vein for a few minutes, extolling her boss’s efforts on behalf of a world of worthy causes. Then she stood aside. A door to her right opened, and Benton Tripley himself came in.

The audience applauded enthusiastically. There was no question here who signed the paychecks.

Tripley, dressed formally in white for the occasion, sat down on Kim’s left. He smiled graciously at her, and she returned the gesture. Kim had never met him. Magda had always represented Lost Cause at Institute events.

Up close, she sensed that Benton was a more electric personality than his father. Everything she’d seen about Kile suggested a serious, somber man, with an intellectual side, and a tendency toward abruptness. But one did not get the feeling of unseen depths. The current Tripley, on the other hand, looked far more congenial, if she disregarded his eyes, which revealed a flatness that left her cold.

He was not a man she’d have over for dinner. Yet the charm was undeniably there, and it washed over her when he favored her with a broad smile. It made her want to be wrong about disliking him.

Magda identified Kim and then introduced Hopkin, who looked intimidated. The physicist shambled clumsily to the lectern, plopped his notes down, and began. He talked about the Beacon Project, and described a few other current initiatives. He explained why private help was needed to carry on scientific work in an age of belt-tightening. And he was starting in on some efforts he wanted especially to recommend to his audience when Kim succeeded in catching his eye and signaling that he should cut it short. Hopkin got the message and broke off in midsentence. “But that’s of no real concern today,” he finished lamely. “We’re here this afternoon to present the Morton Cable Award to Mr. Tripley in appreciation of his exemplary contributions to the cause of science.”

Tripley got up and joined him at the lectern.

Kim retrieved the container, unlatched it, and passed it to Hopkin. He opened it and brought out the model of the Hunter , circa 573. Its aluminum turrets and propulsion tubes gleamed in the lights. He held it up so everyone could see it. They got more applause. Then he read the inscription:

The Morton Cable Award

Benton Tripley

For Extraordinary Effort in Support of the Pursuit of Science Recognized by the Seabright Institute

January 12, 600

He handed it to Tripley, shook his hand, and sat down.

Tripley leaned into the mike. “It’s beautiful,” he said graciously. “My father would have been proud.” He added a few remarks suitable for the occasion, that Interstellar would continue to support scientific research, and that he was pleased to be able to make a positive contribution to a good cause. He thanked everyone for coming, delivered a few more generalities, and gave the lectern back to Magda amid sustained applause.

After the ceremony, he invited Hopkin and Kim into his office and showed them where he planned to put his newest award: beside the Regal , Admiral ben-Hadden’s flagship which had led Greenway’s fleet in the Pacifica War.

But he looked tired. It might have been a lassitude born of too many ceremonies that day, too many meetings with functionaries like Kim. She sensed that he was on automatic. It was hard not to conclude that, when he wasn’t on stage, a different personality took over. Nonetheless, she could see that the Hunter trophy was a hit. Kim hadn’t been certain he would recognize it.

The office was large for Sky Harbor, tastefully but not extravagantly furnished. Plaques and framed certificates and pictures of Tripley with various VIPs hung everywhere. A wall-length window looked out on the long planetary arc. Most of the visible land was white.

A portrait of a young girl playing with a dog stood prominently on his desk. His daughter, Choela, he explained. A virtual fire burned cheerfully in a grate. Bookshelves lined two walls. There were about eighty volumes, leather-bound antiques. And she saw, besides the Hunter and the Regal , three other starships.

“You did your homework,” he said, indicating the Hunter . “Can I offer you some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” she said. “Black.”

Hopkin passed.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.

Tripley leaned toward a link, relayed her wish to someone on the other end. “It’ll fit very nicely with the fleet.” His features brightened and his eyes came alive. Whatever else he might be, she decided, he was an overgrown adolescent.

The Regal occupied a shelf of its own. A second model was encased on a table apparently designed specifically for the purpose. The two remaining ships were on opposite sides of the office, one on a side table near a chair, the other on a wall mount.

“They look realistic,” said Hopkin, strolling from one to another. Kim suspected he could not have been less interested but was using the decorations to cover his social disorientation.

“Thank you.”

The coffee arrived. Hopkin watched while his companions sampled the brew and commented on it. Then he continued, using a tone that signified he was now proceeding to serious matters. “You’ve an efficient operation here, Benton,” he said. “But I wonder if I might suggest something—?”