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?"
"You and Vicki Greene together would make a pretty big story. If you find out anything, you give me an exclusive." Alex blinked a couple of times. "You promise? It doesn't cost you anything." "Sure. I don't see a problem with that." Peifer gave us his code so we could reach him. Then: "She told me the same story you did. Said she'd come to Salud Afar as a tourist. That she'd always wanted to see how things looked outside the galaxy. She wasn't at all what I expected." "How do you mean?" "Horror writer? I thought she'd be dressed in black. That she'd be, you know, depressing." "Did she say where she was going?" "No. She said she hadn't made up her mind yet. She was going to visit oddball places." "Oddball?" "Her term, not mine." "I don't understand. What's an oddball place?" "I'm pretty sure she was talking about something with a haunted flavor." "But no specifics?" "No. She didn't want to tell me where she was going because she figured I might start showing up." He looked puzzled. "She looked too innocent to be the same woman who wrote those books." "You've read them, Rob?" I asked. "A couple of them. They're scary."
We caught a glide train to the capital. The vegetation was striking. Usually, it is what it is. Lots of chlorophyll trying to get at the sun. But Salud Afar has giant flowers in a wide range of colors, though predominantly purple and yellow. The blossoms are bigger than I am. Gravity's light, so everything gets taller. In some areas, we could not see the sky for them. The towns themselves were quaint. A bit old-fashioned. The architecture might almost have been out of Rimway's Kalasian era, two centuries ago. It made me feel as if we'd done some time-traveling. It was midmorning when we arrived at the capital. Marinopolis was a study in dazzling architecture and planning: sunlit towers and broad avenues and sculpted air bridges and wide parks. Water was everywhere: It ran through conduits, spurted from fountains, spilled from flumes. Glowing walkways were crowded. Monuments to the heroes of the revolution were still being put in place. Despite all that, or probably because of it, there was still the flavor of another time. We checked into the Blue Gable Hotel. Alex had made appointments to talk with a few of the people who'd responded to our appeal. While he did that, I sat down with the hotel AI and started to search the archives for Vicki Greene. Mostly I was looking for general news. But I also kept an eye open for dead bodies. Other than an announcement of her arrival in Marinopolis, there wasn't much. A few speaking engagements. Some signings. A couple of interviews that told me nothing. Alex was in his room talking over the link with one of the contacts. I decided I was hungry so I left a note and went down to the hotel restaurant for an early lunch. When I got back, he was out of the building, gone to visit a book dealer. It was a warm day, and they had a rooftop pool. One of the nice things about pools is that, when you're trying to make a gravity adjustment, they're exactly what you need. So I changed into my swimsuit and went topside. But things were a bit more freewheeling in Marinopolis than they were at home. Topless bathing was in vogue. I drew a few disappointed stares, thought about it, and decided what the hell, a little exhibitionism can be good for the soul. I took a deep breath, and, as casually as I could, as if I did this sort of thing every day, I removed my top. Somebody applauded. I draped it across the back of a chair and dived into the water. When I came back up, several guys were trying hard not to look directly at me. It was a little bit like hanging out with Mutes.
I didn't stay long. Exposure provides a kick, but it wears fast. As soon as I was out of sight of the pool I put my top back on. Then I rode the elevator up and checked the room again. Alex was still gone, so I went for a walk. A pedestrian ramp, several kilometers long, skirted the edge of the ocean. This was the Seawalk. It was three blocks from the hotel and something about it rang a bell. When I asked in the hotel lobby, a young female staffer explained: "It's where Aramy Cleev was assassinated. Right down from here. Go to the Seawalk and turn right. One block. They have a marker." Aramy Cleev had been the last in the line of dictators who'd run the Bandahriate. The assassination had happened in the early spring thirty-three years earlier. "He was shot by his own guards," she said. Her voice acquired an angry tone. "Pity it didn't happen sooner." Like most colony worlds, Salud Afar began its calendar with the arrival of the first mission. In this case, it had been the Aquila , with William Corvier in charge. There was a statue of Corvier outside the hotel, although I learned later no one was certain precisely what he had looked like. Furthermore, the exact date of the initial landing was in doubt. The log had disappeared thousands of years before, and the range of estimates varied by as much as six centuries. But Salud Afar had made its best guess, and that became the year 1. It was now 4198. The woman in the lobby was too young to have been alive at the time of the assassination, but the animosity was there all the same. That was when I started discovering that feelings about the former dictator still ran high. On both sides. There were some who would have liked to get him back. The assassination had been followed by three years of turmoil, of revolution and counterrevolution. The Bandahriate, a worldwide polity, had split first into four states, and eventually, through evolution and a series of upheavals, into nine. Komalia emerged by 4184, a kind of corporate republic. Eventually, the states formed various cooperatives and reunited as the Coalition. Komalia's executive authority, the Administrator, was Tau Kilgore, who also possessed some sort of senior status in the Coalition's Executive Authority. I listened to a political show while looking out at the ocean. "He's not the brightest guy in the world," one panelist was saying. "He means well," said another. And a third: "Everybody knows that, but he couldn't find his way out of a closet." "Doesn't matter, though," said the first panelist, a man with a deep voice, "he's a vast improvement over Betsy."