Jack McDevitt - Infinity Beach

“A ram?”

“Oh yes. He was convinced that other civilizations had developed, but he expected they’d all be dead. Thought there wasn’t much chance of finding a living one. He certainly knew our own was in a state of decay.” They were standing just outside the lander launch bay. The vessel’s cockpit rose through the floor into its housing. “And of course he was right.”

That startled her. “Right? In what way?”

“Well.” Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Dr. Brandywine, we’re going to hell in a handbasket. You know that. Everybody’s out for himself now. Not like the old days.”

“Oh,” she said.

They strolled aft, talking idly, Kim agreeing, although she didn’t really believe it, that times had been changing for the worse. The corridor ended outside the entrance to the power plant. “Jacob,” she said, “I wonder if I could look at the maintenance records.” Solly had assured her that, unlike the logs, a complete maintenance record was stored onboard for the life of the ship.

“If you want,” he said. “I don’t see any harm to it.” He punched the control panel mounted beside the door. It opened, they went inside, and he sat down at a console. “But it strikes me,” he said, “that maintenance makes for dull reading.”

“My problem is that I don’t know enough about these things. The maintenance records’ll give me a feel for what it takes to keep a ship like this in operation.”

“Do you want me to get our maintenance chief? He could probably answer whatever questions you might have.”

“No, no,” she said. “That’s okay. No need to bother anybody.”

Isaacs shrugged and brought up a menu. He had a little trouble finding what he wanted. He was, after all, a public information officer. But after a few anxious minutes she watched an engineering history of the Equatorian Interstellar Vehicle (EIV) 4471886 begin to scroll across the screen. Jacob got up and gave her the seat.

Kim paged through as casually as she was able, commenting innocuously on grades of lubrication and periods between engine inspections, trying the whole time to sound as if she were only interested in generalities.

She took it back to the beginning. The Hunter went into service Midwinter 3, 544. “It takes a lot of work to keep one of these things operating,” she said innocently.

Isaacs agreed. She scrolled forward, locating and then familiarizing herself with the system which revealed the type of maintenance or repair and the signature of the technician. She noted the extensive maintenance performed toward the end of 572, prior to departure for St. Johns. Weeks later, a final inspection was completed at that distant outpost before the Hunter left for the Golden Pitcher.

On March 30 it was back at Sky Harbor, and another general inspection was done. She ran quickly through the items, and found that an air-lock door had been replaced in the port cargo hold, and the jump engines had required repairs. She wondered what the problem had been with the door, but the record didn’t say. As to the engines, she wasn’t skilled enough to understand the significance of the damages. She saw only that numbered parts were installed and the engine pronounced okay.

The name of the technician was Gaerhard. She couldn’t make out the first name. But it shouldn’t matter.

She passed on through a few more pages, thanked Jacob, and left.

The following evening, Kim caught a shuttle to the Star Queen Hotel. The onetime liner was brilliantly illuminated, and pictures from groundside showed that, at least for this one night, there was a new star in the heavens.

No two interstellar liners look completely alike. Even those sharing the same basic design are painted and outfitted so there can be no question of their uniqueness. Some have a kind of rococo appearance, like a vast manor house brought in from the last century; others resemble malls, complete with walkways and parks; and still others have the brisk efficiency of a modern hotel complex. Starships, of course, have few limitations with regard to design, the prime specification being simply that they not disintegrate during acceleration or course change.

The Star Queen looked like a small city on a dish. The approach tube was designed to provide maximum view. Kim had seen virtuals of the Queen , but the real thing, up close, took her breath away.

The new owners had worked hard to create the impression of a living vessel that might leave at any time for Sinus or Sol. An enormous digital banner amidships displayed her name in proud black letters.

There were about a dozen people in the shuttle. Most, she judged, were upper-level employees of various Sky Harbor corporations, coming over for the party. One of the men tried to engage her in conversation, but she squirmed and looked uncomfortable and he got the message. She was not necessarily averse to adventures on the road, but at the moment she was too deeply caught up in her own thoughts to spoil the occasion fencing with a prowling male.

There was music at the dock, and automated porters, and hotel representatives anxious to assist. A news team stood off to one side interviewing someone Kim couldn’t see.

She’d been on the Queen once before, when she was fresh out of college, as an Institute intern. She wandered now among its display rooms to refresh her memories of that earlier trip. Here was a memorial to Max Esterly, portraying him poised in thought over a computer console, presumably designing the engines which had made the Queen class of liners possible. And there was the presidential suite in which Jennifer Granville had drawn up the Articles. On the glass deck, so-called because of the view it provided, an assassin had brought down Pius XIX, last of the officially recognized popes. A plaque marked the spot off the main dining room where a team of rangers had started their assault against the Minagwan terrorists who had seized and held the ship for seventeen excruciating days in an act that had been a prelude to war.

Ali Bakai and Narimoto the Good had met secretly on the Star Queen to make the Peace of Ahriman, which neither of their constituencies wanted. The fabled Yakima Tai performed his last concert in the ballroom before ending his life and that of his wife. The Mid-Deck Bar had a plaque marking the fictional spot in which Veronica King met her longtime associate, bodyguard, and biographer, Archimedes Smith. Another plaque commemorated the stateroom in which Del Dellasandro wrote Hypochondriacs Get Sick Too . And in the main lobby an oil painting commemorated the Star Queen’s proudest moment: the attack on her by Patkin’s warships at Pacifica, while she was carrying supplies, technicians, and spare parts to the rebels.

Kim checked the monitor for her room number. A bouquet of orchids was waiting when she arrived, compliments of Cole Mendelson, coordinator of the evening’s activities. The room was small, as one would expect on an interstellar. It was also luxurious, in a busy sort of way. The decor, drapes, bedcovers, furniture, everything seemed just short of garish.

Ordinarily she’d have headed immediately for the shower, but this time she plunked down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. She linked into the terminal and entered Gaerhard’s name with a search command for TECHNICIAN, JUMP ENGINES.

The hit came right back. There was a Walt Gaerhard who fit the parameters working for Interstellar at Sky Harbor.

She called their operations and got a Melissa clone. “I’m trying to locate Walter Gaerhard,” she said.