The Devil's Eye (6 page)

When the quantum drive first appeared on the scene four years earlier, replacing the old Armstrong, it had seemed like near-instantaneous transportation. It could cover five light-years in a few minutes. But it was less accurate than the older system, so there was inevitably a long glide time, often a few days, into the target area. This was true regardless of the range of the hyperspace transition. If you arrived, say, twenty-five million klicks out from the space station and tried to jump closer, you might find yourself twice as far away on the other side. It was, at best, an erratic system. I'd always thought of Rimway as being on the edge of the galaxy. But Salud Afar was thirty-one thousand light-years farther out, pretty much in intergalactic space. As we pulled away from Skydeck and began accelerating, I tried to picture going all the way out there on Armstrongs. "I just can't imagine how they did it," I told Alex. "Actually," he said, "they didn't have the Armstrong when people first went to Salud Afar." "What
did
they have?" "We're talking four thousand years ago, Chase. I'm not sure anybody knows what they had, or how long the flight took. But the Armstrong had only been around a few centuries." We talked about it in the past tense because it was now in the process of being supplanted by the technology the Dellacondans had developed during their war with the Mutes. The quantum drive, which got you around a lot faster.

Traveling all the way to Salud Afar with a primitive system made no sense to me. "I can understand that explorers might have found the place, but the flight must have taken years. Why would anybody settle out there?" Alex grinned. "Some people like solitude," he said. "Back to Eden." "Something like that. It's apparently a nice place. Oxygen content perfect. It has broad oceans, beautiful views. Gravity's light, a little more than eight-tenths of a gee. So you don't weigh so much. The only thing the place lacked was stars." "So what's the plan when we get there?" "Find out where Vicki Greene went and track her. It shouldn't be hard to pick up her trail." "Alex, she was one person on a world of, what, about two billion?" "But she's well-known. There'll be media stories. Some people will have met her. It should be easy."

Alex had been collecting the names of Salud Afar's reviewers, book dealers, other horror writers, the president of the Last Gasp Society, anybody who would have had an interest in talking to Vicki. We sent off about a hundred messages letting everybody know we were coming and inviting anyone who'd seen her or worked with her or knew about her to get back to us. When that was done, we made our jump into hyperspace and settled in for a long ride. Alex had always been an easy guy on this kind of mission. There aren't too many people I want to be cooped up with for a month at a crack. But Alex was okay. He could talk about almost anything, he could listen, he had an open mind, he let me pick the entertainment, and he was always good for a laugh. Once under way, he put the Vicki Greene puzzle aside. There was, he said, no point dwelling on it until we got more information.

He took to reading her novels. I tried one of them,
Etude in Black
, in which a full-throated singer could, when aroused, literally bring down the house. And I know how that sounds, but if you've ever read Vicki Greene, you know she can get away with the most outrageous stuff. She made it believable, and I sat there for most of it with my hair standing straight up. The guy didn't want to do any damage, but his voice was so magnificent he simply couldn't resist occasionally taking things to the wall. After that, I'd had enough. But I read
The Moron's Guide to Vicki Greene
. It maintained she liked abandoned buildings, particularly crumbling churches, which inevitably produced terrible surprises for her characters, who, usually, were there because they'd been stranded in some way, a flyer had gone down, or a boat blown off course. The danger comes, not from a manic supernatural creature, as is usually the case in modern horror novels, but from a supernatural source accidentally provoked. One of the summaries argued that Greene's primary strength, the characteristic that makes her so popular, was her ability to create a sense of empathy with the person wielding the force that is scaring the wits out of everyone else. She wrote about people "getting lost in the cosmic maelstrom." I'm quoting here, and, yes, I don't know what that means any more than you do. But it gets its punch from a demonic possession, or a ghostly presence from another time, or a spirit bound to the mortal world because it can't get rid of some aspect of its physical existence. Or it's a lover who simply can't let go, or, as in
Love You to Death
, a man whose passions cause their objects to overheat. Literally. Well, okay. Not my kind of leisure reading. I scare too easily. But I could see that for some people, that sort of thing could become addictive. In the meantime, Alex read each of the novels and expressed his admiration for Vicki's writing ability. "I know the academic world doesn't take her very seriously," he said, "but her name is going to survive." I began devoting my attention to working on the Rainbow catalog, which had to be updated on a regular basis. I would have liked to include the Atlantean brick, which would have been a star attraction. It was a bit late for that, though. Most of the items, almost all of them, did not belong to us. Rainbow usually acted simply as a trading partner, putting buyers and sellers together. But that wasn't enough to occupy me for more than a couple of days. So we took to attending virtual

concerts and watching musicals and doing whatever we could to help time pass. Alex had a passion for ancient American music, and we spent one particularly riveting evening listening to the Bronx Strings perform a medley of tunes from that distant era, including two of the earliest pieces of music known: "All That Jazz" and "That Old Man River." It was the first time I'd heard either, and they were the high point of the flight.

A month after departure, we emerged from hyperspace. Usually, you make your jump out into normal space and the sky lights up. You get the local sun-assuming you've jumped into a planetary system, which is almost inevitably the case-and a sky full of stars. And maybe some planets and moons. Near Salud Afar, you get the sun and not much else. In our rear, a gauzy arc marked the rim of the Milky Way. Salud Afar was a small bright globe, dead ahead. Otherwise, the sky was utterly dark, save for two stars, one bright and one dim.
"It's unique among worlds with large land animals,"
said Belle.
"It's the only such world known that has no moon. It's believed to have had one originally, but it was probably lost during the Transit." The Transit
referred to the passage of an object, probably a black hole or a dwarf star, that had scrambled the system.
"Theory has always held that a large moon is necessary to prevent a terrestrial-sized world from developing a distinct wobble. Which would, of course, play havoc with climatic conditions."

"Of course," I said.

"How far are we?" I asked.

One of the two stars, the dim one, was actually the planet Sophora. The other, a dazzling sapphire in the sky, was Callistra, twelve hundred light-years away.
"It's a supergiant,"
said Belle. And that was it. Otherwise, the sky was jet-black. "Okay. Belle, let's open a channel to their operations center." She complied. "Samuels Ops," I said, "this is the
Belle-Marie
. Approaching from Rimway. Range 4.1 million klicks. Request log-in and instructions." A female voice replied:
"Instructions are being forwarded to your AI in separate package,
Belle-Marie.
Welcome to Salud Afar."
"Thank you, Ops. Estimate arrival three standard days."
"You are clear. Continue on course. By the way,
Belle-Marie
, we have some mail for you."
"Would you forward it, please?"

They were responses to our inquiries about Vicki. Most were negative. Didn't know her. Knew she was here but didn't get a chance to meet her. Got her to sign a crystal but they were moving us right along. Johansen, the guy who'd enjoyed several cups of
imkah
with Vicki, told us he hadn't actually been with her.
"She was at her hotel during the interview. I never left the studio. Didn't actually see her in person."

Of the rest, five claimed to have spent time with her. Among them was Austin Gollancz, who represented the local firm that published her on Salud Afar.
"I hope,"
he added,
"she's okay."
He lived in Marinopolis. It was the original name, now restored, for the capital of Komalia, which was the principal state on the world. During the height of the Directorate, it had been
Cleev City
, named for the family that had for so long held global sway. We set up a conference with Gollancz. There was a time delay, but it wasn't a problem.
"She came here the day after she arrived,"
he said. He was a small, round, prosperous-looking guy. It was obvious he'd liked Vicki.
"We talked business."
"Anything else?" Alex asked.

"Did she have an itinerary of any kind, Austin?"

"Anybody she planned to travel with?"

"Sure."

Over the ages, it is a world whose name has become synonymous with great art. Nowhere else can we find music and sculpture and literature on their level. Whether one thinks of drama or symphonies or architecture or even botanical displays, one always has to confront their contribution. It may be related to their separation from the rest of us, or it may simply be something in the water, but we always have to make room for them. The power of their contributions, of luminous towers, concerts by the sea, brilliant comedy, tragedy on the summer stage, enriches us all.
-
Dr. Blanchard, in
Midnight and Roses,
speaking of the mythical world Marityne

Salud Afar orbits Moria, a quiet, stable class-G sun. The planetary system at one time is believed to have possessed eight worlds, but the passage of an unknown dense object eleven thousand years ago scattered them. Two worlds, Varesnikov and Naramitsu, were stripped of rings and moons, but left otherwise in place. Sophora had been thrown into a wildly irregular orbit, which brought it careening in and out of the inner system at centuries-long intervals. Fortunately, it made for occasional spectacular views, but posed no threat to the human establishment on Salud Afar. Miranda, a frozen terrestrial far from the sun, had, like Salud Afar, been unaffected by the event. The remaining three had been ejected and were adrift in the void. Early accounts suggest it was this wildness in the system that had inspired the first settlement, which had apparently been a scientific colony. (Most historians are more inclined to attribute settlement to the years-long journey back to the Confederacy. Why go through that when you had a virtual paradise at hand?) In any case, by modern times, it was a thriving world not entirely disconnected from the Confederacy but with a history all its own. We came in over the nightside, riding above a dark ocean. Illuminated patches were visible on the ground. Cities, glowing along a distant coastline.
"There are,"
said Belle,
"eleven substantial landmasses, ranging from continents to islands with a minimum area of ninety thousand square kilometers."
She went on in that vein, citing temperature gradients and average rainfall and dozens of other details. Meanwhile, the E. Clifford Samuels Space Station turned on its lights and took control of the
Belle-Marie
. It's a modest operation by almost anybody's standards. Only six docking areas. "Apparently they don't have much traffic," I said. Alex was gazing quietly at the empty sky. "Look around," he said. "Where would you go?"

Samuels was more like a government station than a commercial operation. Customs and immigration had of course scanned and interviewed us on our approach. We submitted medical histories, completed forms, and answered questions about why we were visiting Salud Afar, how long we intended to stay, and whether we'd be working. We were issued visitors' visas and warned against performing any kind of

remunerative work without getting permission. Later, we heard that they were procedures left over from the days of the Bandahr. When we'd finished, we checked in by link with Central Reserve. Because of the time required to communicate between Salud Afar and Rimway, Alex had established a local corporate account for us. We activated it and wandered out into the concourse looking for a place to eat. They had one restaurant, Sandstone's, a few offices, a lounge, a gift shop, and not much else. We got sandwiches at Sandstone's. We knew Vicki had landed in Marinopolis, but we'd just missed a shuttle into the capital. So we rode down instead to Karmanda, a major commercial city not far away. The weather was rough, so it was a bumpy ride. Some of the passengers, including Alex, didn't look too good by the time we reached the spaceport. The captain apologized, hoped we were all feeling okay, and came out of the cockpit to smile at his passengers as they stumbled down the ramp. A middle-aged overweight bearded guy stood off to one side, checking faces against a reader. I knew immediately what that was about. He spotted Alex and was waiting for us in the terminal. "Mr. Benedict?" He waved a hand as if he were an old friend. "Mr. Benedict? May I have a moment of your time?" He wore a drab gray jacket with a lapel button featuring a star and a sphere. He had a wide-brimmed hat, pushed jauntily back on his head. "My name's Rob Peifer. I'm with Global." He smiled at me, signaling he had no clue who I was but was glad to see me anyhow. "Welcome to Salud Afar." "Thank you," said Alex. He looked my way. "Global's one of the major news agencies." "We're the best there is, Mr. Benedict. But"-he waved it away as a matter of relative inconsequence-"I was wondering if you could take a moment to tell me what brings you all the way out here? Is there a mysterious artifact involved, maybe? Or a lost world?" He leaned forward, inviting a provocative reply. Alex smiled politely. "We're just here on vacation, Mr. Peifer. Just want to see the sights." "You're not on the track of anything?" "No. We're just hoping to enjoy ourselves." "Would you tell me if you
were
? On the track of something?" Alex thought about it. "Sure." "Okay." "We're just here on vacation." "You sent some inquiries out about Vicki Greene-?" "We're fans." "She just underwent a personality transplant." "That's correct." "It wouldn't have anything to do with your visit?" "No. Not really." "All right. I'll just say you had no comment." "Mr. Peifer, do what you like." We started to move away, but Peifer stayed with us. "You think it happened here, huh?" "What happened here?" "Whatever sent her over the edge." "I told you we're here on vacation." "Okay. Stick with your story." He paused. "You want me to say nothing about your being here?" Alex shrugged. "It doesn't matter to us." He looked at me and I shrugged. "Mr. Peifer," he said casually, "did you by any chance meet Vicki Greene when she came here? Were you standing at the terminal for her, too?" He nodded. "Sure. She was really something." He shook his head. "I heard what happened to her. That
is
why you're here, isn't it?" "What can you tell us about her?" "Mr. Benedict, I'll be happy to answer your questions. But only if we can make a deal." "And that would be?"