Jack McDevitt - Infinity Beach

“Of course.”

“The engine designs—” Hopkin flashed disapproval. “You could do much better.”

“They’re standard,” said Tripley, puzzled.

Hopkin had an idea to improve energy output. Kim lost track of it early, during his description of intensification of the magnetic fields at the moment of hyperspace penetration. Her physics was too weak to follow the logic, but Tripley listened closely, jotted some of it down, interrupted occasionally with a technical question, and finally nodded his head. “Put it on paper,” he said. “Let me see a proposal.”

She noticed that he never asked about cost.

The basic problem with flight through hyperspace was that the upper limits of velocity seemed to be fixed at a real-space equivalent of 38.1 light-years per standard day. The Karis Limit. It was fast enough for travel among the Nine Worlds and their outlying regions, but there were other places researchers would like to go. Like the center of the galaxy, to which a round-trip would require four and a half years. Would Hopkin’s idea, she asked, push vehicles beyond the Karis Limit?

“No,” he said. “I don’t think there’s any way to do that. But we will be able to save a considerable amount of fuel, and thereby significantly increase range.”

She was eager to talk about Mount Hope. “It sounds,” she said, “like the kind of drive the Hunter could have used.”

Hopkin blinked, not sure of the reference. “Benton,” he said, “I hate to cut this short, but I really do have to be going.” He got up and smiled benevolently. “It was good to see you again, Kim.” He bent to kiss her cheek, shook hands with Tripley, and disappeared out the door.

“It would be helpful,” said Tripley, “if he could really do what he says.” His gaze drifted from his notes to the model Hunter . “I take it the choice of trophy design was yours?”

“We thought it seemed appropriate. Most famous of the Foundation’s vessels.”

A cheese tray showed up. Kim sampled a piece. “I was impressed that you knew about the models,” Tripley said.

“They provide a distinctive decor, Mr. Tripley. Do they represent actual vessels?”

“My name’s Ben, Doctor. May I call you Kim?”

“Of course, Ben,” she said.

His brow furrowed and his eyes caressed the Regal . It was long and sleek, its lines curving in unexpected directions, designed to resist enemy sensors. A beautiful ship. She wondered why warships, of whatever nature, were always so compelling. Was it their utilitarian nature, that they were designed for a single purpose? It suggested Eisenstadt’s misdirected definition of a beautiful woman, but it seemed applicable in this case.

“My grandfather served on it,” said Tripley.

“During the war?” asked Kim.

“He was ben-Hadden’s helmsman.” The pride in Tripley’s voice was evident. He sat back quietly to allow her a moment of appreciation.

The other models were quite striking.

One was saucer-shaped. “This is the Choela ,” he said, glancing at the little girl with the dog. “It’s corporate. We have two of them in service, actually.”

And a liner. “The Buckman . Gave out years ago, I’m afraid. But it was Interstellar’s first contract. In my father’s time. Launched us, you might say.”

The final vehicle was a flared teardrop mounted on an elliptical platform. Kim saw no propulsion tubes. It looked somewhat like a turtle. “It belonged to my father,” he said. “It’s purely fictitious. As you can see.”

“No propulsion tubes,” she ventured.

He nodded. “It’s not a very thoughtful design, but it’s what got me interested in the business.”

“A boyhood toy?” asked Kim.

“Yes.”

“What is its name?”

He actually managed to look sheepish. “I called it the Valiant .”

“That sounds like a warship. It doesn’t look like one.” Toy warships usually came bristling with weapons.

“To a kid, everything’s a warship.”

Of the five models it was the most intricately detailed, with realistic antennas and sensor dishes and hatches. Its dark shell was tooled to catch the light. In the flickering glow cast by the fire it was sometimes black and sometimes purple. She touched it. Her fingertips tingled with the kind of sensation one gets from hewn marble. “I think Valiant is the right name,” she said.

“In its day,” he smiled, “it’s gone out against all sorts of pirates and monsters.” He took it down from its shelf and held it in both hands, as if weighing his childhood. “My grandmother passed it on to me.”

“But,” she said, “you discovered there were no pirates.”

“Alas, no. At least not in starships.” His fingers lingered against its burnished hull. “What’s the old saying? The stuff of dreams.”

The books on the shelves included Harcourt’s Principles of Galactic Formation , Al Kafir’s Alone in the Universe , McAdam’s The Shores of Night , Magruder’s Far As the Eye Can See , Ravakam’s The Limits of Knowledge .

Not at all the sort of reading she’d have expected from a man whose primary concern was running a major corporation. One never knew.

The fireplace crackled and a log broke. Sparks rose into the room.

“The Hunter is a lovely ship,” she said, to steer the conversation back toward Kile Tripley.

“Yes, it is. I was on it several times when I was a boy. But never in flight, I’m sorry to say.”

“It was a Tripley Foundation vehicle for forty-some years, wasn’t it?”

“Precisely thirty-three years, seven months,” he said.

“They sold it after your father’s death?” She deliberately misstated the facts, not wanting to seem too knowledgeable about the details.

“His disappearance,” he said. “His body was never found.

But yes, they sold it a few years after. There was no longer any point in keeping it. No one else was interested in deep-space research. At least, nobody who mattered. You know, of course, that’s what they used it for.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know.” Tripley, she was aware, had been eleven years old when he lost his father. He’d been living with his mother at the time, and apparently had seen little of the star-hopping Kile. “Do you share your father’s interest in exploration?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Not especially. He wanted to find life somewhere. And sure, if it’s out there, I wouldn’t mind being the one who bags it. But no, I can’t say I’m prepared to devote time and money to it. Too much else to do. And the odds are too long.” He glanced at his commlink, checking the time. Signaling her that the meeting was drawing to a close.

“Ben,” she said, “do you think the Hunter was in any way connected with the Mount Hope explosion?”

His face might have hardened. She couldn’t be sure. But his voice cooled. “I’ve no idea. But I’m not sure I see how it could have been.”

“There was a lot of talk about antimatter at the time,” she said.

Suspicion clouded his face. “I’m sure you have the details tucked away where you can find them, if necessary, Kim. Look: I’ve heard the speculation too. God knows I grew up with it. But I honestly can’t imagine why either Markis or my father would have removed any of the fuel from the Hunter , taken it to the village, and used it to blow up a mountain. Or for that matter, how they could have done it. Remove a cell from its magnetic container, and it explodes on the spot.” He transfixed her with a stare that was not angry, but wary. And perhaps disappointed. “What do you think happened, Kim?”