Part 15 (1/2)
”We'll be back in a week or two.”
”Pity. We have a holiday break coming up-”
”Robin,” I said, ”Alex is anxious to get this done. We really need to do it on his timetable.”
”Sure. I understand.”
”You ever been off-world?”
”No,” he said. ”I always thought of going to the mountains as a long trip.”
It was odd: I thought by then I knew him pretty well, but it hadn't occurred to me that he'd never gone anywhere. Of course, most people never travel off-world. ”I'll see you when we get home.”
”Okay.”
And he did an imitation of celebrated tough guy Mark Parvin, talking out of the corner of his mouth: ”When you get back, baby, I'll be waiting.”
I liked Robin, but I felt crowded that day. Maybe I'd been promising more than I'd be able to deliver.
Well, let it go.
The station's actual name, as you probably know, is Tsarendipol, after the CEO of the General Development Corporation, the company that designed and built the place. But the designation quickly evolved into Serendipity.
The project had been started sixty years earlier, but it still wasn't completed. GDC had gone out of business, there'd been labor disputes, the fleet had taken it over twice during the periodic shoot-outs with the Mutes, and apparently there had been simply an extraordinary level of incompetence and corruption. When we got there, the station was still not much more than an exposed docking area, with a hotel, s.h.i.+pping facilities, and a bar. The restaurants and luxury meeting rooms and entertainment palaces that one a.s.sociates with orbiting stations throughout the Confederacy had not yet opened their doors. To this day, I understand, they still aren't up and running.
World's End Tours was probably not happy with the situation, but Dip was ideally located for them. The station drifted through the outer limits of the Confederacy, with easy access to areas that still remain largely unexplored.
When we arrived inside the station's operating area, I turned control of the Belle-Marie Belle-Marie over to them, and they brought us into port. I'd only been out to the place twice before, and on both occasions, I'd simply delivered some freight, crashed for a few hours, eaten, and gone back home. So walking along the nearly deserted concourses was a new experience for me. Alex said he'd been there once, with Gabe. ”I was ten years old at the time,” he said, ”and I parked in one of the games exhibits and spent all my time shooting at aliens.” over to them, and they brought us into port. I'd only been out to the place twice before, and on both occasions, I'd simply delivered some freight, crashed for a few hours, eaten, and gone back home. So walking along the nearly deserted concourses was a new experience for me. Alex said he'd been there once, with Gabe. ”I was ten years old at the time,” he said, ”and I parked in one of the games exhibits and spent all my time shooting at aliens.”
I didn't see a games exhibit.
”It was over there.” He indicated a dark enclosure.
We'd gotten in late, local time, and there was only one hotel. In the morning, we looked through the World's End advertising. They ran tours to a half dozen star systems, promising ”the ultimate in sightseeing.” Their clients were prosperous. They had to be. World's End tours were expensive, out of sight for ordinary people. They used Eagles, which were optimum vehicles. Individual cabins had opulent appointments; they booked live entertainers; and the s.h.i.+ps carried a maximum of fifteen pa.s.sengers. All of which guaranteed you didn't have to a.s.sociate with the commoners.
They maintained an office in what must have been the only elegantly furnished pa.s.sageway in the station. A window, marked WORLD'S END TOURS looked out on the corridor. Below, in script, was the company's motto: Adventures from Home to World's End. Inside, a young woman sat talking to an AI.
Rachel had worked almost four years out of that office, serving as captain of the Silver Comet Silver Comet. The Comet Comet was a Merrill, the Eagle of its day, although it carried fewer people, a maximum of eight pa.s.sengers. They had several standard routes. But, for an additional consideration, World's End would customize a flight, ”to accommodate pa.s.senger interests.” I wasn't sure what that meant. was a Merrill, the Eagle of its day, although it carried fewer people, a maximum of eight pa.s.sengers. They had several standard routes. But, for an additional consideration, World's End would customize a flight, ”to accommodate pa.s.senger interests.” I wasn't sure what that meant.
The standard routes allowed pa.s.sengers to get a look at ringed giants and black holes. They could lob illuminated globes at neutron stars and land on beaches to relax under alien suns. If they had a desire to do so, they could swim in an ocean where nothing, ever, had lived. The clients inevitably liked to party. The schedule of events showed something happening every evening. I doubted it had been much different during Rachel's time.
The young woman looked up, saw us, and smiled. ”Let's go say h.e.l.lo,” said Alex.
”We're not going to schedule a flight, are we?”
”I don't see any point in doing that. How long's an average flight last?”
I looked through the advertising. ”Shortest one looks like eight days. Up to four weeks.”
He nodded. ”They used to be a lot longer. Technology wasn't as good at the turn of the century, of course. Then the flights ran as long as four months. To the same destinations. Or at least to ones at the same range. The long ones were generally the hunting trips.”
”They went hunting?”
”They still do.” He led the way into the office. ”Good morning.”
”h.e.l.lo,” said the woman, her eyes brightening automatically. ”Can I help you?”
”I'm Alex Benedict. We'd like to see Miriam Wiley, please.”
”Is she expecting you?”
”No. Actually, she isn't.”
”I see.” She pressed a b.u.t.ton and studied a screen. ”I'm sorry, Mr. Benedict. She's not available at the moment. I'll be happy to a.s.sist you if I can.”
”This is important. Would you please tell her I'm here. That I'd like very much to talk to her?”
”One moment, please. I'll connect you with my supervisor.”
It took a minute or two, but they apparently bypa.s.sed the supervisor. The next voice was also a woman's: ”Mr. Benedict, this is Miriam Wiley. I'm surprised to hear you're on the station.” ”Mr. Benedict, this is Miriam Wiley. I'm surprised to hear you're on the station.” Her image appeared on-screen. She was a dark-eyed, dark-skinned woman with a surprised smile. Her image appeared on-screen. She was a dark-eyed, dark-skinned woman with a surprised smile.
”It's nice to meet you, Ms. Wiley.”
”Can I a.s.sume you're the the Alex Benedict?” Alex Benedict?”
”Not sure about that that. I deal in antiquities.”
”Yes, indeed,” she said with a sly grin. she said with a sly grin. ”So I've heard. Arma, send them in, please.” ”So I've heard. Arma, send them in, please.”
Miriam Wiley was a retired pilot who had, at seventeen, charged into a collapsing building at a reclamation project to rescue an injured worker. On another occasion she'd taken over a taxi when its AI system malfunctioned, and ridden it to a safe landing, narrowly missing a swimming pool filled with gawkers who, apparently, didn't have enough sense to clear out.
She stood up as we entered, came over, shook our hands, and suggested we all sit down and relax. ”We don't get many visitors out here,” she said. ”At least not famous ones.”
Her pilot's license, in a silver frame, hung on the wall behind her desk. The walls were covered with pictures of Eagles, flying through ring systems, gliding over lunar surfaces, standing by while a blast of white light emanated from something something too far away to identify. The one that caught my eye was of an Eagle riding above a cloudscape, silhouetted against a partially obscured crescent moon. She tried to pretend she knew me by reputation, too, but she stumbled over my name. ”What can I do for you?” she asked. ”Were you planning on taking one of our tours?” too far away to identify. The one that caught my eye was of an Eagle riding above a cloudscape, silhouetted against a partially obscured crescent moon. She tried to pretend she knew me by reputation, too, but she stumbled over my name. ”What can I do for you?” she asked. ”Were you planning on taking one of our tours?”
”No,” Alex said. ”Unfortunately, we're here on business at the moment.”
”Tracking a rare artifact, no doubt.”
”No doubt.” Alex smiled. They both smiled. Miriam was on the make.
”Too bad. I'd be more than happy to offer you our special VIP rate. You'd find a vacation with us to be a glorious experience.” She s.h.i.+fted those dark eyes in my direction, suggesting that I might consider urging him to take the offer. That I'd enjoy it myself.
”Miriam,” said Alex, ”have you heard of Sunset Tuttle?”
”Who?”