Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [42]
“Tomorrow. It’s bound for Pacifica.”
They strolled over to the entry tube. “Did you want to look inside?”
“Please.”
They went through the air lock and emerged on the main floor, in a gallery lined by a dozen doors. A foldback staircase mounted to the upper level. Another, directly opposite, descended to the lower.
The interior was elegant. Carpeting and furniture were of the highest order. Fixtures had the feel of silver. Windows were curtained, appointments polished, walls decorated with photos from the Hunter’s recent past. She found nothing related to the ship’s days with the Tripley Foundation. And it was impossible not to contrast the Hunter with the drab, spartan vehicles that the Institute used to transport its technicians around the stellar neighborhood.
The mission control center took up much of the main floor. They inspected it, looked into the dining room and the rec area.
The pilot’s room was upstairs. They went up and she stood before it, feeling the tug of history. Markis Kane’s last mission as a starship captain. Inside, a pair of leather chairs faced a control panel and a set of screens. She went in and sat down in the left-hand chair, the pilot’s position.
The rest of the upper floor was dedicated to living quarters. She wondered which cabin had belonged to Emily.
The utility area, which housed cargo, storage, and life support, was located on the bottom floor. It was spacious, considering the modest dimensions of the vehicle, and divided into five airtight compartments and a central corridor running the spine of the ship. “Kile Tripley knew from the beginning that he wanted the capacity to make long flights,” said Isaacs. “So the Hunter has lots of storage capacity, as you can see. It’s also got a water refiltering system that, when it was built, was far ahead of its time.”
There was a cargo hold on either side of the passageway. Each had its own loading door, its own crane, its own sorter, and movable decks. Jacob showed her the refrigeration compartment. “We don’t use much of this space anymore,” he said. “Don’t really need it on commuter flights.”
The portside loading door was as broad as the compartment into which it opened. “Tripley always believed he’d find a ruin out there somewhere, some kind of place not built by us. By people. And he wanted to be able to bring back pieces of it and not be hindered by the size of his doors.”
“A ruin?”
“Oh yes. He was convinced that other civilizations had developed, but he expected they’d all be dead. Thought there wasn’t much chance of finding a living one. He certainly knew our own was in a state of decay.” They were standing just outside the lander launch bay. The vessel’s cockpit rose through the floor into its housing. “And of course he was right.”
That startled her. “Right? In what way?”
“Well.” Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Dr. Brandywine, we’re going to hell in a handbasket. You know that. Everybody’s out for himself now. Not like the old days.”
“Oh,” she said.
They strolled aft, talking idly, Kim agreeing, although she didn’t really believe it, that times had been changing for the worse. The corridor ended outside the entrance to the power plant. “Jacob,” she said, “I wonder if I could look at the maintenance records.” Solly had assured her that, unlike the logs, a complete maintenance record was stored onboard for the life of the ship.
“If you want,” he said. “I don’t see any harm to it.” He punched the control panel mounted beside the door. It opened, they went inside, and he sat down at a console. “But it strikes me,” he said, “that maintenance makes for dull reading.”
“My problem is that I don’t know enough about these things. The maintenance records’ll give me a feel for what it takes to keep a ship like this in operation.”
“Do you want me to get our maintenance chief? He could probably answer whatever questions you might have.”
“No, no,” she said. “That’s okay. No need to bother anybody.”
Isaacs shrugged and brought up a menu. He