Jack McDevitt - Infinity Beach

The Melissa clone glanced at her monitor, acquiring Kim’s ID. “I’m sorry, Dr. Brandywine,” she said. “He’s not on duty at the moment.”

“Could you possibly connect me with his quarters?”

“It’s not our policy to do that. Is this an emergency?”

“No. No, it isn’t. Can you tell me when I might be able to see him?”

“One moment please.” She touched her keyboard, looked at the screen again, and pursed her lips. “He has the day shift tomorrow. Would you like me to leave a message?”

“No, that’s fine. Thank you.” Better to just show up. If anything out of the ordinary had occurred, it was best not to alert anyone.

The event was being conducted in the main dining room. A raised table stood at the front for speakers and special guests. Bunting and flags were strewn around the walls. Flowers and ribbons were everywhere.

Kim wore a burgundy evening gown with an orchid from Cole’s bouquet. The neckline was modest but the gown was clingy, a characteristic that, she saw immediately, would be underscored by the shaded lighting at the lectern. Experience had taught her that the movers and shakers at these events tended to think of the Institute as tiresome, living in the past, hidebound. Consequently she was careful, save with specialized audiences, to demolish that notion. She’d found that female charm could not hurt the cause, and could generally be relied on to ignite the generosity of the donors.

Cole looked up from a conversation, saw her, waved, and came in her direction. He was redheaded, of indefinable age, with long fragile hands and the congenial but mildly vacuous expression that seems to be part of the uniform worn by public relations consultants. Kim returned the smile, knowing that Cole was thinking the same thing about her.

“Good to see you again, Kimberly,” he said. They embraced, and she kissed his cheek and thanked him for the flowers.

They’d met on the luncheon circuit, which Cole had been traveling for the last year, making connections, pushing the advantages of using the Star Queen’s facilities for corporate conferences, reassuring all for whom off-world travel, even in an elevator, was unsettling. He was a good salesman, which was to say he could look people directly in the eye while making the most preposterous claims. But he did it cheerfully, with a wink, so to speak, as if to say, you and I know I’m a little over the top about this, but that’s okay, if it’s not quite at that level, it’s still pretty good and you’ll get your money’s worth.

He introduced her around, and she paid close attention, making sure she got names and faces down. It would help tonight and possibly for years to come. It’s not easy to turn your back on someone who knows your first name.

“I have someone special for you to meet,” he said, steering her across the room. Toward Ben Tripley. He saw them coming and excused himself from his companions and turned toward her. Then he was breaking in on her, somehow fragmented, as if there were too much of him to take in at a single glance. His gaze swept across her bare shoulders, rose to her eyes, and signaled that he had concluded she was a lesser creature and nothing here could change his mind, but he wouldn’t hold it against her.

“Nice to see you again, Kim,” he said smoothly.

She returned the compliment and Cole seemed pleased to observe that they knew each other.

“Old friends,” smiled Tripley. Without actually physically touching her he seemed to take possession. It was a momentary thing, like filing a claim. “I couldn’t resist coming when I heard you’d be speaking,” he said. There was an additional exchange at that level and then he was gone, having seen someone he needed to confer with, and she found it easier to breathe.

By the time they were ready to start, there were about four hundred people in the dining room. It was of course a well-off crowd, handsomely attired in satins and silks. Men wore the white or gold neckerchiefs and sashes popular at the time, and the women displayed formfitting gowns which in some cases left remarkably little to the imagination.

The waiters brought an array of meats, greens, and fruit. A bottle of wine showed up in front of Kim, but she passed on it, intending to wait until after she’d spoken. She was seated near the lectern, immediately to the right of the hotel’s CEO, Talika McKay. McKay was a petite brown-haired woman, with angelic eyes, a benign smile, an effervescent manner, and the compassion of a shark. Kim had twice seen her in action when publicity efforts had gone awry.

Tripley was in the middle of the room, in earnest conversation with the other diners at his table, but his eyes occasionally found her. When they did there was an intensification of force, and the dining room tended to recede while Tripley came sharply into focus. I know your secret , he seemed to be telling her, you are a woman who chases phantoms. You come here and pretend to be a person of scientific achievement, but you are really quite attractive and very little else .

The head table was given over to McKay and Kim, to the president of the Greenway Travel Association, and to Abel Donner, who had supervised the conversion of starship into hotel. McKay functioned as master of ceremonies.

When the diners had finished, McKay stood up at the lectern, welcoming everyone to the grand opening of the Star Queen Hotel, giving mild emphasis to the last word. It would, she said, carry on in the grand tradition of the celebrated liner. She briefly outlined the capabilities of the Star Queen , recommended its facilities for executive training, and introduced the president and the chairman of the board, each of whom briefly gushed over his pleasure at being present.

She described some of the vacation packages that would be available, pointed out that a special connection had always existed between the Star Queen and the Seabright Institute, and turned to Kim, who wondered what the special connection was.

“Our principal speaker this evening—” she began.

Kim understood that politics had brought her to this event. Somebody at the Star Queen had owed somebody at the Institute a favor. They needed a representative, the Institute needed exposure, and voila, Brandywine arrives at the lectern. They understood she’d make her pitch for the Institute, but she was also expected to say nice things about the new hotel.

Lecterns had survived the advance of technology that rendered them obsolete because they served to provide a barrier behind which a speaker could hide. Kim disliked them for that reason: they blocked her off from her audience. Had she been able, she would have pushed it aside.

“Thank you, Dr. McKay,” she said. She went through the customary greetings, told a couple of jokes on herself, and described the one other time in her life she’d been aboard the Star Queen . “I was an intern with the Institute and we were scheduled to take a flight out to the physics lab on Lark. It happened that the Queen had just docked. It was in from Caribee. Just a detail, but I never forgot it. How far’s Caribee? Eighty-some light-years? They were letting visitors on board, and we had a little time, so we came in through that entrance over there. By the ferns. And into this hall. The captain and a couple of his officers were shaking hands with passengers, saying goodbye, and I tried to imagine how far they had come, how big the void was between Greenway and Caribee.

“We all know there was a time when people thought such a voyage could never happen. Not ever. The travel that we take for granted was once somebody’s dream.

“We launched an automated probe from Earth toward Alpha Centauri nine hundred years ago. Alpha Centauri, as I’m sure you know, is only four light-years from Sol. Four. But that probe is still en route. It’s not quite halfway there. And we ask ourselves, why did they bother? They were all going to be dead by the time the probe arrived. Dead for two thousand years. Why do we do these things?