Polaris (40 page)

O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?

—William Cowper

EXTRACT FROM ALEX BENEDICT'S JOURNALS

I was, of course, in zero gravity, wearing grip shoes, but still half-adrift. I've never learned to walk properly with them. Experts say that a novice will be tempted to try to fly. In my case, at least, they're wrong. I tend to be cautious. I don't like being weightless, I get ill easily, and I always feel disoriented when it's not entirely clear which way is
down.

I came through the airlock wondering whether I'd find Teri Barber waiting for me with a bomb. But that was imagination run wild, and I knew it. Nevertheless, I breathed a sigh of relief when the inner hatch opened up, and I was looking down a long, empty corridor.

I had a generator with me, so that, if the need arose, I could introduce some power into the place. I also had a black marker, to ensure I didn't get lost, and a scrambler. I've never used one of the things, but I knew if Barber turned up, I'd have no trouble blasting away.

The corridor was cut through rock. I turned on my wrist lamp and put it at its lowest setting, so it wasn't much more than a soft glow. I kidded myself that I was less of a target that way. And I plunged ahead. Straight down the passageway for about twenty meters, then around a
curve. Looking back on it now, I think continuing around that bend, convinced there was a psycho waiting for me somewhere in the place, was the gutsiest thing I've ever done.

The walls were uniformly gray, flinty, reflective. Strips that had once provided lighting ran along the overhead and the tunnel floor.

The tunnel curved and dipped and rose, so that you could seldom see more than twenty or thirty meters at a time. Ideal for an ambush. Don't ask me why there were so many convolutions. It seemed to me that if you're driving a passageway through rock, you go straight. But what do I know?

It would have been nice to be able to hear. But, of course, someone could drop a ton of bricks in that vacuum, and you'd never know. I trailed one palm against the walls, on the theory that any movement in the tunnel might create a vibration that I could detect. But that was wishful thinking, and I knew it.

I kept going. Past three or four doors that didn't look promising so I didn't try to open them. Past a couple of intersections, where, since the connecting tunnel seemed no more interesting than the one I was in, I stayed straight. Through two more hatches, both, I'm happy to report, open.

Eventually the tunnel forked. I marked it and went right.

I was beginning to relax a bit until I came around a curve, saw a light, and almost jumped out of the pressure suit. But it turned out to be a reflection. Off a sheet of metal. It turned out to be a door that had broken loose, probably from a cabinet.

Another hatch lay ahead. That one was closed, and it didn't respond when I tried to open it. Usually if that happens, it's because there's air pressure on the other side. In this case, it
felt
as if the problem was simply a matter of age. I wrestled with it for a minute then finally cut my way through with the laser.

The corridor continued on the other side. I passed a series of storage areas, filled with cabinets, cases, and crates. These were loaded with spare parts, bedding supplies, cable, hardware, electronic gear. When they left, the Kang had apparently not bothered to clear the station. It made me
wonder whether the last ones out had realized nobody would be coming back.

Some stuff was afloat. Benches, chairs, fastenings, rock-hard fabrics, accompanied by a fine mist of particles and gunk that might have been anything, the remnants of towels or clothing or filters or food. Everything had drifted against one wall, which must have marked the far side of the station's orbit.

I'd been in the passageway about three-quarters of an hour when I went through a final hatch and the stone walls ended. They were replaced by something that had been board or paneling at one time. It was rough, dry, hard, and all the color had drained from it. The floor was carpeted, but my grip shoes tore small pieces out of it. I approached a set of double doors, one of which was open. I passed through and was gratified to see that I'd arrived in the station proper. Doors, rather than hatches, began to appear. They were on both sides of the corridor. None was easy to open, but I forced my way past several of them. One room housed a workout area, with a treadmill, some bars, and a few other pieces of exercise gear. Another contained an empty pool, its diving board still in place.

Two more rooms were filled with lockers and benches. Each had showers.

I came to a staircase and drifted up to the next level, which opened out into a lobby. There was a long, curving counter on one side and a series of shops opposite. The shops were all empty shelves and tables. A wrench and a mallet were climbing one wall. They forget the tools and take the personal stuff. I've seen it before, and it's as if people are being deliberately vindictive. Any of those shopkeepers could have achieved immortality by the simple expedient of leaving his name and his stock.

Several passageways opened off the area. There were more shops and more doors. I wandered into an apartment. A worktable was anchored to the deck. Two chairs floated against a wall. And a cushion. Everything was stiff and dry.

There were also shards of glass adrift. And an electronic instrument. A music player of some sort, I guessed.

I went next door, where it was different. The furniture was bolted to
the floor. Fabrics were old, but not
ancient.
The room wasn't exactly the Golambére, but it was livable.
Had
, in fact, been lived in within the recent past. A (relatively) modern chest of drawers stood in a corner. The only objects adrift were a coffee cup, a pen, and a doily.

I walked over to the bureau and inspected it. There were four drawers, all empty. I cut it loose from its anchors and looked on the back. A plate said
MANUFACTURED BY CROSBY WORLDWIDE
.
In Standard characters.

I opened my channel to Chase. “I don't guess you can hear me, love,” I said, “but I think we found it. This is where they stayed.”

I felt pretty good at that moment. End of the trail, at last.

Chase, of course, didn't respond.

And now for the icing on the cake: All that remained was to hook up the generator, feed some power into the circuits, and watch my key work one of the locks.

“You needn't go any farther, Benedict.” The voice came out of my receiver, but I saw movement to my left in the doorway. “I really hoped you wouldn't push so hard.” Another lamp blinked on. It blinded me, but I could see someone behind it. A woman.

She was holding a military pistol, one of those things that blows large holes in walls. I'd gotten so caught up in the search that I'd put my scrambler into a pocket. Not that it would have made much difference against the cannon she was holding.

“Turn off the lamp,” she said quietly. “That's good. Now turn around slowly and don't do anything that might surprise me. You understand what I'm saying?” She stood in the doorway, in a white pressure suit with a Confederacy patch on one shoulder, her face hidden by the helmet and the light. The weapon was in her left hand.

“Yes,” I said. “I understand.”

“Put your hands straight out where I can see them.”

I complied. “How long have you been waiting here, Teri?”

“Long enough.”

I couldn't get a good look at her. “Or should I say
Agnes
?”

I could hear her breathing over the radio link. “You have it all figured out, do you?”

“No. I don't. I don't understand how Maddy English could resort to murder. You killed Taliaferro, didn't you?”

She didn't answer.

“He was going to talk to Chase. Warn her about you. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Was he going to tell her who he really was? Was he going to blow the whistle on the whole operation?”

“He said no. He promised he wouldn't do that. But I couldn't trust him.”

“Too much to lose.”

“Yes. Everything to lose.” She edged into the room. “But there's no way you can understand what I'm talking about.”

“Try me.”

“You know,
Alex
, I feel as if I've come to know you pretty well.”

“You're a mystery to me, Maddy.”

“I guess.” She sounded wistful. “Listen, I had no wish to kill anyone.”

“I know that. It's why you warned Survey when you planted the bombs.”

“Yes. That's right. I tried to do the right thing. I wouldn't have killed anybody if I could have avoided it. Especially not Jess. But too much was at stake.”

“What was at stake, Maddy?”

“You know what I am now.”

“Yes. Forever twenty-five. Must be nice.”

“It changes your perspective about a lot of things.” She said nothing for a long moment. Then: “Don't misunderstand me, Alex. I won't hesitate—”

“Of course not. Still, it must have hurt when you pushed Tom Dunninger off the cliff at Wallaba Point.”

“It wasn't Tom Dunninger. It was Ed. Or maybe it wasn't. I'm not sure anymore who it was.”

“What happened?”

“I didn't push him.”

“What happened, Maddy?”

“I
loved
Ed. I would never have harmed him.
Never
.”

“You loved him? You
betrayed
him.”

“You're talking about Dunninger again. They were different people. At Walpurgis, when he was Eddie Crisp, I loved him. And before that, in Huntington, and before that, on Memory Isle. Appropriate spot, that was. Memory Isle.”

“What happened to him?” I was thinking about Wallaba Point, but she answered a different question.

“He wouldn't give in. After they brought him here off the
Polaris,
to
this
place, he still wouldn't give in.”

“Wouldn't agree to stop his work.”

“It was too late by then anyway. He'd already done the final test. Taken the nanobots aboard.”

“You mean injected into his own system?”

“Yes. Of course. What else would I be talking about?” She used the weapon to wave me into the middle of the room. “They were here for almost four months. During that time they could see that he was getting progressively younger. When I got here, with the
Babcock,
to pick them up, I couldn't believe what I saw.”

“He was a young man.”

“I wouldn't go quite that far. But I'd never have recognized him.”

“So Boland did a reconstruction job on him.”

“Yes. Chek wiped his memories. Gave him a new personality. Eventually created a fresh identity and got him a job. We used to take turns watching him. To make sure he was okay.”

“But you had to move him periodically. Right? Because he didn't age.”

“Yes. He didn't understand that. He had false memories, implanted by Boland. But every eight years we had to do it again. Take his memories. Make him someone different.”

“It must have been hard on him.”

The light wavered. “We were killing him. Over and over. That's what it is, when they do a wipe. Somebody else takes over your body. You're gone.”

“So you—”

“He used to get flashbacks. He'd remember pieces of his former life. Sometimes as Tom Dunninger. Sometimes as one of the
others.
By the time we were at Walpurgis, he was in his fourth incarnation. Flashbacks were coming more often, and I was trying to persuade Boland to take him in at Morton, put him with others who didn't age and give him a permanent identity. But Dunninger kept reappearing. More and more often as time went by. Boland said no. He said a permanent identity would eventually restore him altogether.”

“There was no satisfactory solution,” I said.

“No.”

“So you decided to push him off the summit at Wallaba Point.”

“No. I told you I didn't do that. I would never have done it. I loved him.

“We used to go up there on summer evenings. We enjoyed the place. It made everything else seem unreal. Ed was good. And funny. And sometimes sad on occasions when he didn't seem to know why. But he loved me. They were getting ready to move him again. Change his identity. People in Walpurgis were beginning to notice. Every time they did that, we had to start over.

“Whenever Boland was done with him, he never remembered who I was. It was killing me, too. So I decided I was going to explain everything to him that night. Roll the dice. Persuade him to join us. Tell him the truth. And while I was doing it, up there on the brink—God, how could I have been so stupid?—Dunninger came back. Just like that, it was Dunninger looking at me out of Ed's eyes, knowing who I was, knowing who
he
was. And he hated me. Oh God, he hated me.