The Devil's Eye (7 page)

"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."

I didn't know who Betsy was. The hotel entrance was on the third level. I was standing outside the front door, high enough off the ground to see the ocean, thinking what a lovely day it was, when I realized I couldn't
hear
the sullen roar that oceans always deliver. That struck me as odd until I remembered that Salud Afar had lost its moon. People go on about how spooky a thousand-year-old derelict ship might be, or an ancient space station adrift in the middle of nowhere, or a city left behind by a vanished civilization. But nothing ever chilled my heart quite like standing near that beach at Salud Afar looking out at an ocean and hearing only dead silence. I spent an hour on the Seawalk. The salt air was invigorating, and mostly I was thinking how good it was to be out in the sunlight again. People were strolling past, and kids charged up and down with balloons. A couple of guys made passes at me, and, while I was ordering a sweet bun, a boy who was about eight whispered to his mother that I talked "funny."

Alex called and asked whether I'd eaten yet. Well, then, would I care to join him anyhow? So we met at a place called Morey's on the Seawalk, and I sat and sucked on a plate of red fruit with a lemony taste while he explained how he'd learned nothing from the people he'd talked to. They'd all seen Vicki within days of her arrival. She'd seemed fine, not especially anxious about anything. Nobody knew where she'd gone from here. There was only one person left to interview, Cirilla Kopaleski, and we'd see her tomorrow. He was putting away a plate of bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. Something was on his mind, but I let him get to it in his own time. We talked about what a beautiful city Marinopolis was. Andiquar, by

contrast, looked almost mundane. "Dictatorships tend to do that," he said. "Strongmen always have a taste for architecture." And finally he came to what had been bothering him: "The Mutes seem to be interested in Salud Afar." "How do you mean?" "There've been a number of incidents out here. Intrusions. Sightings of Mute warships insystem." "That's odd. What interest could the Mutes possibly have in
this
place?" "That's exactly what I've been wondering, Chase." "What kind of intrusions?" "No shooting incidents. As far as I can tell, the Mutes have just been tracking fleet vessels." "Why would they do that? It makes no military sense." "Don't know. I'm not a military tactician." "What kind of fleet does Salud Afar have?" He scooped some jelly onto his toast. "I gather it's pretty small. A dozen or so patrol vessels. And three destroyers." "That's it?" He nodded. "Well," I said, "I don't think they need to worry. An attack out here would probably provoke retaliation from the Confederacy." He kept eating. "The only reason I can imagine is that they're trying to intimidate the locals." "Could be." I slushed down a piece of my red fruit. "Okay," I said. "Why do we care?" "We don't." "Then why's it bothering you?" "It's not bothering me." "It's on your mind." "The incidents started while Vicki Greene was here. In fact, just shortly before she left." He looked out at the crowds wandering past on the Seawalk. A dark-haired woman who could have profited from some clothes strolled past and caught his eye. He started pretending nothing unusual was going on. "You're not suggesting there's a connection?" "No. Of course not." "Then why-?" "It's just a coincidence. But I went back years and couldn't find another instance of an incursion. Not one. And suddenly we're getting all these sightings." "How many?" "Well, four." "That's not exactly a rash." "It is when there weren't any previous ones during the whole of recorded history. When you're a zillion light-years away from the Assemblage." More half-dressed women paraded by. He gave up trying to hide his interest and laughed. "Sorry," he said. "It's hard to concentrate here."

The Mainline Distribution Services not only saw that Vicki Greene's work was made available, but they also handled the public relations. Its head-quarters operated out of a gleaming structure that soared into a steeple, located in a park complex that it shared with IQ, Inc., which sold, serviced, reprogramed, and replaced AIs. (And claimed to be run by AIs.) Cirilla Kopaleski occupied a suite near the top. We were ushered in by an impeccably dressed young man who smiled too much. Kopaleski was seated on a long, lush sofa, looking through a folder. She glanced up as we entered, raised a hand inviting us to be patient, turned another page, made a face, and closed the folder. "Sorry," she said. "It seems as if we can never get things right the first time around." She was a tall, stately woman with gray hair, a trim body, and the presence of a queen. She put the folder down with a resigned sigh. "Come in," she said. "Please make yourselves comfortable. You're here about Vicki Greene?" She shook her head sadly. "Can I get you something to drink?" "Sure," Alex said. I decided to try something called a
carolla
. She pushed a tab and relayed the request. "So tell me what happened," she said. Alex gave what had now become our standard answer: "That's what we're trying to find out." "We're going to miss her," she said. "And not only because it will hit us in the pocketbook, but she was genuinely likable. I can't understand it. She had everything to live for. Whatever could have possessed her?" "Ms. Kopaleski, it might help if you tell us what you can about her visit. When did she first contact you?" "I knew in advance she was coming." "You mean to Salud Afar?" "Yes." She was wearing an emerald-colored blouse and white slacks. "She let me know before she left Rimway." "Had you met her before?" "No." She shook her head sadly. "We connected right away. She went to dinner with us, with me and my husband. She was a good woman. Not often you meet someone that talented who hasn't let it go to her head." The drinks arrived. We were in a place where everything was unfamiliar. I had no idea what was in the glass, so I took it cautiously. It was okay, but I decided I wouldn't have any more. Kopaleski picked up her glass, sipped from it, studied it in the daylight that fell through a set of blinds. "It's a disaster." Alex bowed slightly. "For everyone concerned," he said. "May I ask what services Mainline provides for its writers?" "We handle distribution and publicity, arrange their appearances, and so on. And, if they wish, arrange quarters." "Did you do that for Vicki?" "Yes. I set her up at the Schuyler Inn." "That's here in Marinopolis?" "Yes." "How long did she stay? In town?" "I can check. But I think she was here only two or three days." She consulted a display and nodded. "Three days." She gave us the dates, which, since they were expressed in the local calendar, meant nothing to me. But apparently Alex had done his homework. "That would have been immediately after her arrival from Rimway," he said. "That's correct. I'd set everything up in advance." "Did you see her the first night?"

"The second." "How did she look?" "How do you mean?" "Did she seem upset? Depressed? Bothered by anything?" She shook her head. "She seemed perfectly fine to me. I don't know if you've ever met her, but she's very energetic. Laughs all the time. She certainly seemed to be looking forward to her stay." "Did she tell you why she'd come?" "She said she'd never been to Salud Afar, and she wanted to do some touring." "That's it? Nothing more?" "That's all I can recall. Why? Do you think what she did to herself is connected with her visit here?" "I don't know, Ms. Kopaleski. Did you have any contact with her after she'd left?" "I got a posting from her several days later. She said she was enjoying herself and wished I were there." She smiled. "You know the routine. But that was all." "Do you still have the posting?" "Yes, I'm sure we do." "Might it be possible for us to take a look? "Of course," she said. "Mr. Benedict-" "
Alex
is good." "Alex, I know who you are. Your reputation has preceded you even out here. Marvelous work with that Margolia business last year." "Thank you." "I'm glad you're looking into this. It's just a terrible loss. Where will we ever find another like her?"

She gave instructions to her AI, and Vicki Greene appeared in the center of the room. She looked the way Molly Black had looked in those jungle adventures we'd all grown up with: intense eyes, sharp features, a scrambler strapped to her hip, and a devil-be-damned attitude. She wore khaki shorts with enormous cargo pockets and a gray pullover top. She had a billed sun cap, with an "M" mounted prominently on it. A red scarf was slung casually around her neck, and sunglasses shaded her eyes.
"Hello, Cirilla,"
she said.
"Greetings from Boldinai Point, Home of the Undead. I got here yesterday and went to see Barryman's Tomb last night. I'm sorry to report that local myth to the contrary, everything was quiet. Here's a look at it."
She vanished and was replaced by a stone block. A grave marker. But a big one. Someone had inscribed on its side the legend LIE STILL. The imager moved back to give us a wider view. The block lay in the middle of a cemetery.
"This is it. The locals insist this is all that keeps him in his grave. Anyhow, having a great time. See you when I get back."