“I once served aboard the Persepholis. It had a haunted stateroom.”
“Haunted how?”
“Strange noises. Voices no one could account for. Cold spots.”
“You ever see any of this?”
He considered the question. “Yeah. I can remember walking past it on watch, hearing voices inside.”
“Might have been the passengers.”
“This was after they stopped using it for passengers, Kim. It became a storage area.”
“Did you look inside?”
“First couple of times, yes. Didn’t see anything. After that I just let it go.”
“Not that I doubt you,” she said, “but I’d have to see it for myself.”
They ate quietly. Solly looked out toward the mainland, just visible in the east. “Plato believed in ghosts,” he said.
“Plato?” Kim was skeptical.
“He thought ghosts came from drinking too much wine.” He laughed at her reaction. “It’s true. He says somewhere that when people get too attracted to their earthly lives, too many good times, too much sex, that when they die their souls get tangled up with the flesh and can’t get free. He thinks that’s why spirits hang around cemeteries. They’re sort of pinned to their bodies.”
Kim finished the sandwich, scooped up some cranberry sauce, and washed everything down with the beer. “You’re really caught up on this Severin business, aren’t you, Solly?”
He was refilling their glasses. “No. Not really. But when the sun goes down, it becomes a different kind of world.”
“Hell of an attitude for a starship pilot.”
He let her see how much he was enjoying the beer. “Maybe I’ve been out in the dark too many times,” he said.
Alpha Maxim had erupted in an explosion that would be visible for a billion light-years. Of course, if a response had to come from that kind of distance nothing human would be here to receive it. The species would long since have evolved into something else.
The news accounts were filled with Beacon stories, including excerpts from religious and conservation figures, who’d entered into an unusual alliance, declaring the detonations either acts against God or against the environment.
Kim understood people’s objection to blowing up suns, even suns with planetary systems which would never be home to anything except iron and methane. The worlds that had been engulfed yesterday had been orbiting Maxim for time out of mind, and it seemed indecent to disturb them.
She shook off the misapprehension and her thoughts drifted to Sheyel Tolliver. She’d been tempted to call him after she got back from the Caledonian dive, talk to him casually as though last night’s conversation had not been at all unusual, to assure herself that he was okay, that he had taken no offense. But she decided it was better left alone.
She spent much of the following day in a conference with Matt Flexner, trying to draw up a strategy for squeezing additional funds from the central government. Elections were imminent and the Premier knew that either of his prospective opponents would turn money for the Institute into another example of government waste.
The problem, as Kim saw it, was to demonstrate why the Institute was valuable to the taxpayers, who tended to see it as a way to create jobs for overeducated people with nowhere to go. Kim hated to admit it, but she wasn’t sure the taxpayers were altogether wrong. She did not, of course, share that opinion with Matt. Only Solly knew how she felt.
Matt Flexner had literally been around the Seabright Institute for a century. At thirty, he’d been one of its showpieces, a world-class physicist, doing breakthrough work in transdimensional structure. But the extension of life had underscored quite clearly what scientists had always known: that truly creative work must be done during the early years, or it will not be done at all. Genius fades quickly, like the rose in midsummer. And all the genetic enhancement known to science had not been able to change that melancholy reality.
Matt had adjusted, passed his work unfinished to younger hands, and gone into less demanding fields. Public relations, Kim thought sadly, recognizing that her genius had never got off the train. If Matt had come up short, at least he’d been in the game. People would remember him.
He still looked thirty, of course. He had a broad forehead and a whimsical smile and a long nose. His hair and beard were black, and he was an extraordinarily gifted tennis player.
Kim was his chief lieutenant.
She told him that she’d be gone for a couple of days. Her schedule was her own. Nobody cared how she came and went as long as she got the job done. And the immediate job was to persuade the members of the Germane Society that the Institute was a worthy recipient for donations.
It would, she thought, be rather nice if she could find a supernatural being in the Severin Woods. It would open a whole new field of scientific inquiry.
She went home early, slept for an hour, then made some hot chocolate and carried it into the living room. “Shep,” she said, “see what you can find out about Markis Kane after 573.”
“Searching,” he said.
The sky was gray and cold. A stiff wind beat against the house.
“Not much here. He was an artist of some note.”
“Artist? You sure it’s the same guy?”
“Oh yes. It’s the same person. Apparently his work has a modest reputation.”
“Okay. What else?”
“He left Greenway in June 579, on a flight to Earth. Worked several years there in Canada as a consultant for flight-deck design. Retired from that in 591. Moved to Old Wisconsin. Died in 596.”
“He never served as a ship’s captain again? After the Hunter mission?”
“Not that I can find.”
It was odd. Three people disappear. And the fourth gives up his career.
Nothing remained of Severin Village except a few buildings jutting out of the lake that had formed when they took down the dam. The lake itself, appropriately named Remorse, was quite large, more than twenty kilometers across at its widest point, and lined with forest. In some places there were piles of uprooted trees.
“Shepard,” she said, “take me there.”
The living room dissolved to lakeshore.
“Weather conditions?”
“Springlike. April. Maybe throw in a shower.”
Kim’s chair was at the water’s edge. The wind rose and a small boat with two fishermen was making for land. A sheet of rain was moving across the lake, coming her way. Near shore, brick walls and chimneys broke the surface.
She sat for a long time at the water’s edge. Since she was not dressed for stimulation, the storm would have no effect on her and the illusion would be ruined. So Shepard kept the rain out to the north.
There were no artificial lights anywhere, save for a lantern in the fishing boat. “Nearest town, Shep?” she asked.
“Eagle Point. Population about seventeen thousand. Approximate distance thirty-three kilometers.”
Eagle Point. They had some of Kane’s sketches there, at the Gould Art Gallery.
She hesitated. Then: “Shep, let me talk to Emily.”
The AI’s electronics murmured. “Kim, are you sure?” It had been years.
“Do it, Shep.”
Lights brightened and dimmed again. Kim was still on the beach at Remorse. But she was no longer alone.
“Hello, Kimberly.” Emily wore the same leisure outfit, loose white top and baggy pants, that Kim was wearing. Both were barefoot. It had never been quite like this before when Kim had called up her lost sister. Then she’d been an adolescent talking with a grown woman. Now they were on equal terms.