Infinity Beach (9 page)

First up on her schedule was the award for Benton Tripley.

She had just time for a quick nap. Then she dressed and checked herself in the mirror. Satisfied that she looked pretty good, she took the elevator down to C deck, where most of the corporate suites were located.

It was a luxurious section, well away from the tourist and operational areas, featuring dark-stained paneling, potted plants, and thick carpets. The walls were hung with landscapes. Soft music whispered out of unseen speakers. The lighting was restrained, lending an aspect of quiet significance to the digitals marking the individual offices.

Interstellar, Inc., was located behind a pair of frosted-glass double doors. A young dark-skinned woman looked up from a desk as she entered. “Good afternoon, Dr. Brandywine,” she said. “They’re waiting for you. Please follow me.”

She showed Kim into a compact conference room. A recording crew was already at work, setting up for pictures. Averill Hopkin arrived on her heels, looking frazzled. After a minute’s conversation Kim realized he didn’t like making presentations. He was nervous and irritated, and not at all anxious to participate in a public forum. But there’d been no easy way out for him, and so here he was, his gaze running between Kim, the lectern, and the time. “I hate these things,” he told her.

“It’s the price of being celebrated,” she said, keeping her amusement out of her voice. She thought briefly about advising him that 90 percent of everything is public relations, but prudently let it pass.

“I’ve just got more important things to do, Kim,” he said. She put a hand on his arm. It was rigid. “I’m not good at this sort of thing,” he persisted.

“Relax, Avy.” She gave him an encouraging smile. One of her best. “You’ve nothing to prove. All they want is for you to be here. You could fall over a chair, and they’d think that’s just the way genius behaves.”

He nodded solemnly, accepting the accolade without a flicker of humility.

The lectern was set on a low platform at the front of the conference room, flanked by four chairs and a side table. Behind it, the company shield hung proudly on the wall, framed by blue and white bunting, Interstellar’s colors. Kim had kept the award in its container, which she now placed on the side table after showing it to Hopkin.

Corporate employees were beginning to come in. She knew a couple of the executives, and she introduced the physicist to them. They fawned over him, and she was pleased to see him calm down somewhat.

A tall, blond woman entered and everyone snapped to attention. This, Kim knew, was Magda Kenneal, Tripley’s chief administrative assistant. Magda took over, introduced herself to Hopkin, said hello distractedly to Kim, and began giving directions. There were now about twenty people in
the room. After she’d gotten everyone satisfactorily seated, Magda apparently got a signal from somewhere. She nodded, stepped behind the lectern and the conversation stopped. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “I’d like to welcome you here this morning. As you may be aware, Mr. Tripley has long been a staunch supporter of the Seabright Institute—”

She continued in that vein for a few minutes, extolling her boss’s efforts on behalf of a world of worthy causes. Then she stood aside. A door to her right opened, and Benton Tripley himself came in.

The audience applauded enthusiastically. There was no question here who signed the paychecks.

Tripley, dressed formally in white for the occasion, sat down on Kim’s left. He smiled graciously at her, and she returned the gesture. Kim had never met him. Magda had always represented Lost Cause at Institute events.

Up close, she sensed that Benton was a more electric personality than his father. Everything she’d seen about Kile suggested a serious, somber man, with an intellectual side, and a tendency toward abruptness. But one did not get the feeling of unseen depths. The current Tripley, on the other hand, looked far more congenial, if she disregarded his eyes, which revealed a flatness that left her cold.

He was not a man she’d have over for dinner. Yet the charm was undeniably there, and it washed over her when he favored her with a broad smile. It made her want to be wrong about disliking him.

Magda identified Kim and then introduced Hopkin, who looked intimidated. The physicist shambled clumsily to the lectern, plopped his notes down, and began. He talked about the Beacon Project, and described a few other current initiatives. He explained why private help was needed to carry on scientific work in an age of belt-tightening. And he was starting in on some efforts he wanted especially to recommend to his audience when Kim succeeded in catching his eye and signaling that he should cut it short. Hopkin got the
message and broke off in midsentence. “But that’s of no real concern today,” he finished lamely. “We’re here this afternoon to present the Morton Cable Award to Mr. Tripley in appreciation of his exemplary contributions to the cause of science.”

Tripley got up and joined him at the lectern.

Kim retrieved the container, unlatched it, and passed it to Hopkin. He opened it and brought out the model of the
Hunter
, circa 573. Its aluminum turrets and propulsion tubes gleamed in the lights. He held it up so everyone could see it. They got more applause. Then he read the inscription:

The Morton Cable Award

Benton Tripley

For Extraordinary Effort in Support of the

Pursuit of Science

Recognized by the Seabright Institute

January 12, 600

He handed it to Tripley, shook his hand, and sat down.

Tripley leaned into the mike. “It’s beautiful,” he said graciously. “My father would have been proud.” He added a few remarks suitable for the occasion, that Interstellar would continue to support scientific research, and that he was pleased to be able to make a positive contribution to a good cause. He thanked everyone for coming, delivered a few more generalities, and gave the lectern back to Magda amid sustained applause.

After the ceremony, he invited Hopkin and Kim into his office and showed them where he planned to put his newest award: beside the
Regal
, Admiral ben-Hadden’s flagship which had led Greenway’s fleet in the Pacifica War.

But he looked tired. It might have been a lassitude born of too many ceremonies that day, too many meetings with functionaries like Kim. She sensed that he was on automatic. It was hard not to conclude that, when he wasn’t on stage, a different personality took over. Nonetheless, she could see
that the
Hunter
trophy was a hit. Kim hadn’t been certain he would recognize it.

The office was large for Sky Harbor, tastefully but not extravagantly furnished. Plaques and framed certificates and pictures of Tripley with various VIPs hung everywhere. A wall-length window looked out on the long planetary arc. Most of the visible land was white.

A portrait of a young girl playing with a dog stood prominently on his desk. His daughter, Choela, he explained. A virtual fire burned cheerfully in a grate. Bookshelves lined two walls. There were about eighty volumes, leather-bound antiques. And she saw, besides the
Hunter
and the
Regal
, three other starships.

“You did your homework,” he said, indicating the
Hunter
. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” she said. “Black.”

Hopkin passed.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.

Tripley leaned toward a link, relayed her wish to someone on the other end. “It’ll fit very nicely with the fleet.” His features brightened and his eyes came alive. Whatever else he might be, she decided, he was an overgrown adolescent.

The
Regal
occupied a shelf of its own. A second model was encased on a table apparently designed specifically for the purpose. The two remaining ships were on opposite sides of the office, one on a side table near a chair, the other on a wall mount.

“They look realistic,” said Hopkin, strolling from one to another. Kim suspected he could not have been less interested but was using the decorations to cover his social disorientation.

“Thank you.”

The coffee arrived. Hopkin watched while his companions sampled the brew and commented on it. Then he continued, using a tone that signified he was now proceeding to serious matters. “You’ve an efficient operation here, Benton,” he said. “But I wonder if I might suggest something—?”

“Of course.”

“The engine designs—” Hopkin flashed disapproval. “You could do much better.”

“They’re standard,” said Tripley, puzzled.

Hopkin had an idea to improve energy output. Kim lost track of it early, during his description of intensification of the magnetic fields at the moment of hyperspace penetration. Her physics was too weak to follow the logic, but Tripley listened closely, jotted some of it down, interrupted occasionally with a technical question, and finally nodded his head. “Put it on paper,” he said. “Let me see a proposal.”

She noticed that he never asked about cost.

The basic problem with flight through hyperspace was that the upper limits of velocity seemed to be fixed at a realspace equivalent of 38.1 light-years per standard day. The Karis Limit. It was fast enough for travel among the Nine Worlds and their outlying regions, but there were other places researchers would like to go. Like the center of the galaxy, to which a round-trip would require four and a half years. Would Hopkin’s idea, she asked, push vehicles beyond the Karis Limit?

“No,” he said. “I don’t think there’s any way to do that. But we
will
be able to save a considerable amount of fuel, and thereby significantly increase range.”

She was eager to talk about Mount Hope. “It sounds,” she said, “like the kind of drive the
Hunter
could have used.”

Hopkin blinked, not sure of the reference. “Benton,” he said, “I hate to cut this short, but I really do have to be going.” He got up and smiled benevolently. “It was good to see you again, Kim.” He bent to kiss her cheek, shook hands with Tripley, and disappeared out the door.

“It would be helpful,” said Tripley, “if he could really do what he says.” His gaze drifted from his notes to the model
Hunter
. “I take it the choice of trophy design was yours?”

“We thought it seemed appropriate. Most famous of the Foundation’s vessels.”

A cheese tray showed up. Kim sampled a piece. “I was impressed that you knew about the models,” Tripley said.

“They provide a distinctive decor, Mr. Tripley. Do they represent actual vessels?”

“My name’s Ben, Doctor. May I call you Kim?”

“Of course, Ben,” she said.

His brow furrowed and his eyes caressed the
Regal
. It was long and sleek, its lines curving in unexpected directions, designed to resist enemy sensors. A beautiful ship. She wondered why warships, of whatever nature, were always so compelling. Was it their utilitarian nature, that they were designed for a single purpose? It suggested Eisenstadt’s misdirected definition of a beautiful woman, but it seemed applicable in this case.

“My grandfather served on it,” said Tripley.

“During the war?” asked Kim.

“He was ben-Hadden’s helmsman.” The pride in Tripley’s voice was evident. He sat back quietly to allow her a moment of appreciation.

The other models were quite striking.

One was saucer-shaped. “This is the
Choela
,” he said, glancing at the little girl with the dog. “It’s corporate. We have two of them in service, actually.”

And a liner. “The
Buckman
. Gave out years ago, I’m afraid. But it was Interstellar’s first contract. In my father’s time. Launched us, you might say.”

The final vehicle was a flared teardrop mounted on an elliptical platform. Kim saw no propulsion tubes. It looked somewhat like a turtle. “It belonged to my father,” he said. “It’s purely fictitious. As you can see.”

“No propulsion tubes,” she ventured.

He nodded. “It’s not a very thoughtful design, but it’s what got me interested in the business.”

“A boyhood toy?” asked Kim.

“Yes.”

“What is its name?”

He actually managed to look sheepish. “I called it the
Valiant
.”

“That sounds like a warship. It doesn’t look like one.” Toy warships usually came bristling with weapons.

“To a kid,
everything’s
a warship.”

Of the five models it was the most intricately detailed, with realistic antennas and sensor dishes and hatches. Its dark shell was tooled to catch the light. In the flickering glow cast by the fire it was sometimes black and sometimes purple. She touched it. Her fingertips tingled with the kind of sensation one gets from hewn marble. “I think
Valiant
is the right name,” she said.

“In its day,” he smiled, “it’s gone out against all sorts of pirates and monsters.” He took it down from its shelf and held it in both hands, as if weighing his childhood. “My grandmother passed it on to me.”

“But,” she said, “you discovered there were no pirates.”

“Alas, no. At least not in starships.” His fingers lingered against its burnished hull. “What’s the old saying? The stuff of dreams.”

The books on the shelves included Harcourt’s
Principles of Galactic Formation
, Al Kafir’s
Alone in the Universe
, McAdam’s
The Shores of Night
, Magruder’s
Far As the Eye Can See
, Ravakam’s
The Limits of Knowledge
.

Not at all the sort of reading she’d have expected from a man whose primary concern was running a major corporation. One never knew.

The fireplace crackled and a log broke. Sparks rose into the room.

“The
Hunter
is a lovely ship,” she said, to steer the conversation back toward Kile Tripley.

“Yes, it is. I was on it several times when I was a boy. But never in flight, I’m sorry to say.”

“It was a Tripley Foundation vehicle for forty-some years, wasn’t it?”

“Precisely thirty-three years, seven months,” he said.