"- Another incursion. Apparently, a Mute warship and a pair of Coalition destroyers traded shots out near Naramitsu. Preliminary reports indicate the Mute was driven off. No casualties reported. Global News will keep you updated as this story comes in."
"Alex, what's really going on?" "I wish I knew," he said. "So what's next?" "Mikel Wexler owns an extensive estate." "Really?" "And he's accumulated over the last few years a substantial interest in two major corporations." "So why do we care?" "Maybe we don't. But the estate is up for sale." "Okay." "And he's recently sold off his other holdings." "That's strange. Is he expecting an economic downturn?" "I don't know. You may be right. Maybe we do deserve some time off. A few days of vacation." "Don't tell me. We're talking about the Golden Isles."
EIGHTEEN
Ultimately everything is math. The number of protons in a given element, the gravitational force that binds Rimway to the sun, the number of heartbeats you get. Learn to count, my boy. Therein lies wisdom.
- Wish You Were Here
Calient was the principal island in a group of four in the middle of the Balin Sea. These were the Golden Isles. All had beautiful beaches, and the nightclubs and restaurants were spread equitably among the four. None of the islands measured as much as seven kilometers at its widest. They would have been an ideal location for Vicki. Two of the islands had occult connections. On Khyber Island, something spoke in the winds. And Calient claimed a ghostly yacht.
The weather was warm when we arrived. Alex went to work with the house AI while I sat out by the pool. Topless again. I told myself a little exhibitionism was good for the soul, but I don't think I could ever get used to it. The yacht legend had it that two lovers, one on Calient and the other on Khyber (though sometimes he was from Sanikaw) had been kept apart by feuding families. It was the classic situation. The boy eventually made off with the family's yacht, determined to collect his lover and head for a more rational place. But a storm blew up during the crossing. The family discovered he was missing, and the boat as well. They called him, pleaded with him to return. The boy refused, and the storm overwhelmed him. Wreckage washed ashore a day or two later. The lover was never found. According to the story, on dark nights, when neither Callistra nor the galactic rim is visible, the yacht can be seen, still trying to get across the narrow strip of water to Khyber Island. People on Khyber claim the girl's spirit roams the beaches at such times, waiting for him. It's an intriguing tale, and I don't think I've ever been to a remote place that doesn't have one like it. It was the sort of story that would have enchanted Vicki. That said, we found no indication she'd ever visited the Golden Isles. There was no mention of her in the news archives. Nobody remembered her. One of the bookstores had a mystery club, and the coordinator was shocked to learn that Vicki Greene might have been in the Isles and she hadn't been aware of it. Alex came out after a while. I picked up the notebook I'd brought out and laid it on my chest. Casually, of course. He sat down in the beach chair beside me and pretended nothing unusual was going on. I let it go for a while. Then: "Any luck?" "Maybe." He glanced at the notebook. "Enjoying yourself?" "As a matter of fact, yes." "Good," he said. "I think we wasted our time coming out here." "I like islands." "That's the right spirit."
I met a couple of the local guys, one of whom was maybe the funniest character I've ever seen. I remember regretting that he lived so far away. When he asked about my accent-"You're not from around here, are you?"-we both had a good laugh. "Not exactly," I said. His name was Charjek. A strange name. He called himself Charger , and it fit. We had a good time. Next day we hit the beach. That night we went to dinner and a show. He asked whether I'd be staying on Calient and looked genuinely unhappy when I told him we'd be going home shortly. We traded contact information, assured each other we'd get together again, and even sent each other occasional messages later. I never saw him again, though, after those few days. I can't recapture it now, but nobody has ever made me laugh so much.
Two days later I said good-bye to Charger and we returned to Moreska. We arrived on a cold, rainy morning, got off the plane, and started over to Sunlight Travel to pick up a shuttle we'd booked. Instead we picked up something else. A man and a woman were waiting for us. They showed us credentials identifying them as agents of the Coalition Security Service. CSS. "We have a skimmer topside," the woman said without inflection. Her name was Krestoff. "We'd appreciate it if you'd come with us." She was attractive, in a cold, hard way. Blond hair, brown eyes, all business. Alex stood his ground. "Why?" Her partner was big and might have been a professional bong thrower. He smiled down at Alex. Krestoff shook her head. "You've an appointment." "With whom? You mind telling us what this is about?" "I don't know the details, Mr. Benedict. We are here simply to provide escort. Now, I'll need your comm links." Alex's notebook was clipped to a pocket. "And that, too, please."
"Are we under arrest?" "Not yet," she said.
NINETEEN
The ideal death, the death to be hoped for, is one that comes swiftly, out of the night, that takes you while you're enjoying the strawberries, and sweeps you away before you've had time even to know that the lights have gone out.
- Midnight and Roses
"Either of you have a weapon?" asked Krestoff. It was in my bag. She led us out onto the airfield. A white skimmer was waiting, with Coalition markings on its hull. Our bags appeared. They opened them, did a quick search, confiscated my scrambler, and gave me a receipt for it. Then they directed us to get on board. They climbed in behind us. The pilot was in a separate compartment behind a closed door. Bong pulled the hatch shut, and Krestoff told the pilot to go. He said something about overtime, and we lifted off in the twilight and turned south. "Where are we going?" Alex asked. "To a location where you'll be quite safe, Mr. Benedict." "I'm safe here." "You've no reason to be worried," she said. That of course is exactly the kind of remark that scares the hell out of me.
"Where are we going?" asked Alex again. "Special place," said Krestoff. "You'll like it." "Is it a detention center?" I asked. "I'd think of it more as a vacation spot." Her tone was dismissive. We traveled over a wide stretch of ocean and then inland. Alex looked at me and shook his head. Sorry I got you into this.
It got dark quickly. After a while there was nothing to see except moving lights in the sky and on the ground, and occasional clusters of illuminated buildings. After about an hour we passed over a city. "What's it about?" I asked him, not bothering to keep my voice down. "Later," he said. After a while, the occasional lights revealed that we were into a mountain range. We were gaining altitude, and snow showed up on the ground. The wind picked up, and the skimmer bucked and swayed. "Almost there," said the pilot.
The descent was, well, exciting. We got tossed around pretty good, and the pilot said that he thought we should give it up and come back later. "Land the goddam thing," said Krestoff. "Look, Maria, don't give me trouble." "Can you take us down?" "Yes. If you insist." "Then please do it."
I looked at Alex. Alex cleared his throat and took a deep breath. In the hands of idiots. Krestoff caught his reaction. "Don't worry, Mr. Benedict. Squeej will manage." Squeej? What kind of name was that for a pilot? But I thought it prudent not to provide another distraction. The wind blew us all over the sky. But we kept going down. By then it was dark, black, stygian the way no other place above ground ever is. Our navigation lamps threw beams all around us, but the only thing I could make out was snow. Closer to the mountain peaks, O Lord. I hoped Squeej knew what he was doing, and I wished he might have been more inclined to stand up to Maria. Bong said nothing.