Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [33]
Benton Tripley looked precisely like his father, save that he was clean-shaven. He was tall, tanned, with brown, wavy hair brushed back, and a congenial smile that she didn’t believe for a minute. And there, she concluded, was another difference: Kile looked honest. There was something in Benton’s expression that she didn’t trust.
Shepard put up a series of pictures. She saw him shaking hands with other industrialists and with political figures, saw him surrounded by women in various vacation spots, saw him defending himself against charges of unfair practices in court. He seemed to be everywhere. TRIPLEY WELCOMES BARRINGER ISLAND DELEGATION. TRIPLEY CONSULTS WITH NEW YORK COUNTERPART KIP ESTERHAUS. TRIPLEY SHOWS HIGH SCHOOL GROUP AROUND SKY HARBOR.
But there was something she could use: Kim saw three starship models in his office. Three.
And that gave her exactly the wedge she needed.
Shepard got back to her as the flyer approached Korbee Island. “Message from Sheyel Tolliver,” he said.
“Run it.”
Sheyel’s voice came on and gave the shoe size. “Anything else, Kim?” Shep asked.
She glanced at Solly, telling him silently that the size matched the shoe they’d found. “Yes. Put coffee on.”
“It’s a little less than definitive,” Solly said. “How many women would you say wear that size?”
“Quite a few,” she admitted. “How many of them do you think hang around starships?”
6
We are not alone.
Somewhere, in places remote beyond imagining, cities light the dark, and towers rise over broken shorelines. Who inhabits these distant cities, who looks out from these far towers, we do not at present know, and cannot guess. But one day we will arrive in their skies, and we will embrace our brothers and sisters.
—SHIM PADWA, The Far Towers, 321
“We should do more of this,” Matt said. “Get ahead of the curve. Hand out prizes. It’s an easy way to make friends for the Institute.”
Well-heeled friends. Management had directed it be called the Morton Cable Award, after the man who’d done the breakthrough work for the development of transdimensional flight. Happily, Cable also had connections with the Institute.
Kim readily agreed—“great idea, Matt”—and suggested that, in view of Tripley’s affinity for decorative starships, they put the award in that form, rather than using a standard plaque. Matt approved and left the details to her judgment.
The cab picked her up early Friday morning. The ocean was still misty as the flyer rose into a crystal sky and arced toward the mainland. There were relatively few private vehicles on Greenway because taxis were cheap, well maintained, and readily available. She saw no seagoing traffic, save for a westbound yacht. A couple of other cabs were in the air, circling aimlessly over the islands, waiting for calls.
Matt had arranged that Averill Hopkin would make the presentation to Tripley. Hopkin was a prizewinning authority in hyperspace propulsion techniques. He was already at Sky Harbor, doing consulting work for Interstellar. So it was all very convenient. Hopkin was dark skinned, dark eyed, a man without substance, Kim thought. His life seemed to be completely entwined in physics. She doubted that he had any idea how to enjoy himself.
The cab dropped her at the terminal. Fifteen minutes later she was on the Seahawk, a maglev gliding south over Seabright’s parklands. The Institute passed on her right, and the beaches on her left. Once outside the city it accelerated smoothly to six hundred kilometers per hour, occasionally tracking over open water, leaving a roiling wake in its passage.
The view from her window became a blur of seacoast, forest, and rivers. Passengers drew their shades and settled in with their links or a book. Some slept, some put on a helmet and watched a selection from the train library.
Kim brought up the Autumn on the screen mounted in front of her seat and looked for a long time at her own image.