Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [68]
“Probably not. I wanted to thank you for tracking down Yoshi’s shoe size.”
“It was nothing. Now will you tell me why you asked?”
“We found a grip shoe at Kile’s villa. Fits the size.”
“Oh?”
“That’s all we have for the moment. And it probably doesn’t mean anything.”
He was silent.
“I need more information.”
“Of course. If I have it.”
“Was there anything artificial about Yoshi’s body? Anything that a sensor might detect?”
His eyes slid shut. “I don’t think so.”
“Any kind of artificial enhancement, maybe? Or something that had been repaired?”
“No,” he said. “Nothing that I know about. She had an accident once playing wraparound. Had to get a couple of her teeth capped.”
“I don’t think there’s anything there we can use. Okay, Sheyel. I’ll see if I can find another way. In the meantime, if you think of anything, give me a call.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Kim. I appreciate what you’re trying to do.”
She switched off, poured herself a drink, glanced at a code she’d written on a piece of paper, and punched it in.
“Hello?” Mike Plymouth’s voice. She left the visual off.
“Hi, Mike.” She made her voice as soft as she could.
“Hello, Kay. I thought I’d hear from you.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I can’t make it tonight.”
“Oh. Well—You are all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Another night, maybe?”
She’d pushed Solly out of the room. Now she wished he were there. “I don’t think so. There’s really no point.”
“Oh.” He was fumbling for something to say. Something to retrieve the situation. Or save his pride.
“I’m sorry.” She thought about making up a story. Something to spare his feelings. I’m already committed. I was cheating yesterday. But she let it pass. “I’m just really tied up right now.”
“I understand.” The room grew still. “Goodbye, Kay.”
Then he was off the line and she was staring at the link. “Goodbye, Mike,” she said.
They arranged to have the hotel deliver some cheese and wine and settled back to watch the Hunter logs. Kim put the disk into the reader, set it for the screen, sampled the cheese, and turned to Solly. “Ready?” she asked.
He nodded and she started the program.
Titles appeared, identifying the ship, setting the time and place, listing commercial cargo (“None”), and describing the general nature of the flight. The date, translated to Seabright time, was February 12. Date of departure from St. Johns.
The early visuals were from the out-station, depicting technicians and maintenance staff working on the Hunter. Solly described what they were doing, these checking life support maintenance, those topping off water supplies.
“We’ll get two sets of records,” he explained. “One will be the data flow from the various shipboard systems, life support, navigation, power plant, and so on. The other will be a visual record of what’s happening in the pilot’s room. The imagers will only record movement. If the room is empty, or if the pilot’s asleep—” he held out his hands, palms up, “—nada.”
“How much work is there for a pilot to do, Solly?”
“It’s a tough profession, Kim. It takes a high level of intelligence, extensive knowledge, great reflexes—”
Her eyes closed. “Solly—”
“Trade secret?”
“Go ahead. You can trust me.”
“You could jettison the pilot at any time and be perfectly safe.”
“Really?”
“Sure. The pilot does three things: he talks to the ground, tells the AI where to go, and takes over if the AI blows up. Which never happens.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. And the AI can talk to the ground.” He fast-forwarded past the technicians. They whirled through their tasks, and then disappeared and the screen went blank. The clock leaped forward two hours. The next sequence gave them Markis Kane coming into the pilot’s room.
This was Kane more than forty years after the war, but there was of course no physical difference between the man who sat in the cabin of the Hunter, and the man whose image was prominently displayed at the Mighty Third Memorial Museum. This later version might have been a little less lean, and his features might have been a trifle