She got a cold reception back at the Institute. Solly’s friends, who were legion, wondered, sometimes in her presence, what was so important that it had cost his life, how she had happened to get clear in the lander while Solly was left in a ship with, as the official report put it, an “overload” in the jump engines. They pressed her for answers and found the story she contrived, that they were following a first-contact rumor, unconvincing. She became a pariah.
Agostino rehired her, but refused to allow her in his office when she went up to thank him. She was informed that he blamed her for the cancellation of the Beacon Project. She pointed out to Matt that the project had become redundant.
“Doesn’t matter,” Matt said. “A lot of people put their life’s work into Beacon. And it was a moneymaker for us. Nobody knows that better than you. And the general public doesn’t know it’s redundant. They think it failed in some way.”
When Emily’s body was released, Kim arranged a memorial service.
They held the ceremony on a beautiful April afternoon, under a quiet sky. Kim selected a grove not far from the Institute for the service, and the place filled with friends and family. The Sea Knights came out and stood by her, asked how she was, and offered their condolences.
Two days later, a similar event was held for Solly.
The second memorial was conducted on a windswept hillside near the ocean. Solly’s family was there, mostly people she’d never seen before. The Sea Knights returned and gathered beneath a flapping banner that carried their insignia, a trident on a white field. The Institute turned out in force. Even Agostino showed up.
Solly’s friends, as custom directed, came forward to talk about him. Others simply stood, wiping their eyes.
The wind blew off the ocean. A composer whom Solly had once carried from Earth, and whom he’d befriended, had written a score, “Though Tomorrow Never Come,” for the occasion. He’d brought along a vocalist to perform it, and Kim stood listening while tears ran down her face.
Eventually, as she knew would happen, her name came up.
Solly’s brother pointed her out, standing with the Knights. “Kim Brandywine,” he said, “the young lady for whom Solly gave his life.” They all looked her way, expectantly. “Kim,” he added, “why don’t you come on up and say a few words.”
She’d hoped to be left quietly to herself. But this had been unavoidable, the least she could do, and she’d prepared. She had taken a trank to try to hold herself together, but it seemed to have done nothing to assuage the grief and loss, so her mind went blank and she forgot the lines she’d memorized, and instead talked in a halting tone, on automatic, uttering banal phrases which the wind blew away.
“—Most selfless man I’ve known—” She could see a sail receding on the horizon and it seemed less real than the seascapes she’d seen in the windows of the Hammersmith, with Solly at her side.
The sun was bright and the sky empty. “—I would not be here today—”
She fought back the tears and, at the end, her voice rose over the wind. “God help me, I loved him—” A pair of gulls soared over the surf.
And she heard a child’s voice up front: “Then why’d she leave him, Mommy?”
When she finished the brother thanked her politely, took a few more speakers, announced that refreshments were available in the south pavilion, and drew the ceremony to a close.
Kim stood for several minutes, unable to leave. Several of the Knights came over to talk to her and wish her well. Then she was startled by a glimpse of Solly’s perceptive blue eyes. They belonged to a young woman with long dark hair.
“I’m Patricia Case,” she said. “Solly’s sister. I just wanted to get a good look at you.” She bit the words off like pieces of ice, fought to hold back tears, and stalked away.
It was the only time in her life Kim could recall seeing naked contempt directed at her. “It’s not what you think,” she called after the woman. “It wasn’t like that—”
The media portrayed her in a similar light: a helpless passenger on a scientific research mission who’d needed rescuing when, shortly after emerging from hyperspace, the engines had run wild.
She received requests for interviews, guest spots on several panel shows, and lucrative offers for exclusive accounts of events on the Hammersmith. All of which she declined.
Ben Tripley had left a message for her at home. She ran it and was surprised when he looked at her sadly and only wished her well. Her heart sank. She had expected him to take her to task for destroying his father’s reputation, to point out he’d warned her something very much like this would happen. But he avoided the recriminations and only said he understood this was hard on everybody. And he expressed his regrets for Emily. “I don’t know what happened,” he said, “I can’t imagine what happened. But I’m sorry. I wish it could have been otherwise.”
How could she respond? You were right all the time? I don’t know what happened either, and maybe your father is completely innocent, but the damage is done. Maybe if your father and Kane had spoken up when they came home about whatever occurred out there, everything would have been okay. It’s not my fault.
After a long time she recorded a message, thanking him, telling him she was confident that when the investigation was complete, his father would be vindicated. She watched it through, decided it was a disaster, and deleted it.
She delayed calling Sheyel because once again she didn’t know what to say. She had no appetite for lying to him, but her agreement with Canon Woodbridge prevented disclosure. Still, she needed to talk to someone, and Sheyel seemed to be the only person left.
She punched in his code. Moments later his dragon chair appeared, and then he walked into the image and eased himself into it. “Kim,” he said. “It’s good to see you.” He wore a dark brown robe.
They exchanged pleasantries, although she could see he was anxious to hear about the flight of the Hammersmith. He looked more pale and drawn than when she’d seen him last. He was losing ground.
“I can’t tell you much,” she said. “I just wanted you to know I’m okay.”
“I understand.” His silver hair and beard had become straggly. She suspected he hadn’t adjusted well to the news about Yoshi. “You lost a friend,” he said.
“Solly Hobbs. Yes.”
“I read what he did. Such friends are rare.” He reached beside him and picked up a cup. Steam was rising from it. “What will you do now?”
Good question.
“I think I owe Ben Tripley an apology,” she said.
“When are you going to do that?”
“Maybe tomorrow if I can get an appointment.”
“You’re going up there personally?”
“Yeah. I think I should. Anyway I want to get a closer look at the Valiant.”
“The Valiant?”
She hadn’t meant to say that. But what the hell, he already knew. “The ship in the mural,” she prompted. “You remember the model?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “How could I forget?” There was, she thought, something very strange in his eyes, but she let it go. Probably the light.
She got through to Tripley’s secretary, who said she could make room for her next afternoon toward the end of the day. Kim consented, and put in a call to Tora Kane.
Tora came right on. Strictly audio. “Yes, Kimberly. What did you want?”
The key to the Hunter logs, Kim thought, had to lie with the captain’s daughter. There was no one else.
“I wanted to apologize,” she said. “I know this has been a difficult time.”
“I really needed somebody to explain that to me.” She paused, and Kim could hear the ocean in the background. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes. I wanted you to know that I don’t believe your father’s in any way responsible for the deaths.”