Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [52]
There were photos of the hero, parts of the ship itself, and a mock-up of the flight deck. The actual command chair was encased behind a glass wall. One of the ship’s laser cannons pointed down a hallway. Personal articles of the crew were laid out, including a jacket that had belonged to Kane. The original logs were there, contained on two disks that gleamed like diamonds on the arm of the command chair. Copies were on sale in the museum store. And there was a strip of bloody cloth that the ship’s engineer had used to tie down the fuel leads after the 376 had taken a hit.
Kim read a copy of a letter sent to the parents of one of the crew killed on the mission.
She entered the VR tank and went through the flight, watching everything through Kane’s eyes. She emerged shaken, impressed by the courage and tenacity of the man.
Kane could not possibly have been part of a hoax. Not under any circumstances she could imagine. Therefore, if he’d told Sheyel nothing had happened, that should end the matter. And yet—
“Ah, Kim.” She turned and looked into the amiable features of Mikel Alaam, the museum director. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Good morning, Mikel.” She embraced him and offered her cheek for a kiss. “How’ve you been?”
Alaam wore his hair shoulder length. He had the sort of professional aloofness one usually finds in museum directors, fiction writers, and morticians. “Quite well, thank you. What brings you to the Mighty Third?”
“I’m interested in Markis Kane.”
“Ah, yes. He’s a fascinating man. He was here for the dedication. Even functioned as an advisor when we put the exhibition together.” They had pictures from the event: Kane drinking coffee with a couple of the technicians, Kane wielding a boltlight, Kane laughing with somebody’s kids.
“Really? When was that?”
“Oh, a long time ago. I was only an intern then, but I actually got to meet him. In fact I shook his hand.” He gazed soulfully at his palm.
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Not much. He was a friend of Art Wescott, who was the director at the time. I thought he seemed embarrassed by all the fuss. But we were delighted to have him. That was when they’d just dedicated the museum.”
“So it was—?”
“Around, what, 575. Sure, that was our first year.” He looked at the flight deck mock-up. “Yes,” Alaam continued. “He walked around, talked to everybody, signed autographs. Decent man. Not like some of these people—”
The room was bright with sunlight. Like Kane’s reputation.
Kim’s cab moved north up the coastline through a gray sky.
Ahead, Mount Morghani stood directly astride the shore line, overlooking Wheeling Bay. Morghani had provided a string of dictators with a natural fortress during the long years of their rule over the island empire. Esther Hox had carved from its slopes the Black Hall, a stronghold from which she directed military operations against the bands of rebels who tried unsuccessfully for four decades to unseat her.
Today, Morghani and its fortifications and the harbor it guarded provided Seabright with a stunning backdrop. The Black Hall was a major tourist draw. And a prime archeological site.
The structure was four hundred years old, built during the dark age that had followed hard after Greenway established itself formally as an independent political entity. Guns, lasers, and missile launchers were still in place in the surrounding mountains, and the control room from which Hox personally oversaw defenses was still visited annually by tens of thousands.
The Black Hall had become one of the prime symbols of that age, and therefore, in an inexplicable manner, of the romance of the period. Kim loved the place, which was maintained by the Seabright Historical Union. Much of the old fortress was off-limits because it wasn’t safe. But troops in the uniforms of those bygone years were still marshaled twice daily in the main courtyard. The imperial quarters were also open to visitors, as were the art gallery and the library. Hox and