Bright of the Sky (8 page)

Then, tiptoeing into the kids’ room, Quinn checked on his favorite niece and nephew.

From a dark corner of the room came the voice of the toy savant, Jasmine Star. Her program activated by motion sensors, her mechanized voice exclaimed: “Come to do battle, pagan scum?”

Emily was sleeping with her hands thrown over her head like she was jumping into a lake. Mateo was dreaming hard, twitching.

Maybe it was true that Caitlin and Rob could take care of themselves, as his sister-in-law had said. They didn’t need a benevolent brother holding the world off with bloody fists. But what if that brother had brought players onto the field that would never have noticed Rob Quinn, one savant tender among thousands? What if Rob was about to suffer just because of having the wrong brother?

Emily’s face had a faint sheen of perspiration, as though dreaming were hard work. The room swelled around him, full of big things like justice and innocence and rage. He was going. Of course he was. The decision felt like fog evaporating off the ocean. He wasn’t going to watch this family suffer. He’d walked into the room having decided, but not realizing it. Now, it was clear.

As the breath he was holding left him, he felt weak with relief. He’d wanted to go from the moment Lamar asked him—he’d just hated going at Minerva’s request. But the truth was, he’d go any way he had to.

Mateo stirred, knotting his blankets around him like armor.

Okay, then.
I’m going.

On his way out of the bedroom, he cast a glance at Jasmine Star, sitting in her cardboard box.

“Yes,” Quinn answered her at last. “Heading into the fray.”

In the darkness, he thought he heard a far-off din, as though he were hearing, across endless plains, a thousand voices raised in a desperate battle.

CHAPTER FIVE

S
TEFAN POLICH HELD THE SILVER KNIFE, WIDE AND SHARP.
“I am expected to do the honors,” he told his guests seated behind their too-thin china and too-thick wine goblets. He surveyed his fourteen dinner guests, including Lamar Gelde, Helice Maki, his mother in her dotage, a remote hanger-on uncle, and various acquaintances to complete the table. None of them could be called friends.

His wife, Dea, sat some distance away, virtually present, pretending to partake of the first course, which in her case was taro root, as she sat in her tent in Papua New Guinea, on her latest foray in search of rare flowers on Sori Island.

Amid applause, his cook entered, bringing the main course: a sparkling ham armored with cloves.

Stefan carved the ruby meat, producing the first serving for his mother, who might or might not remember which fork to use. Next to her sat Lamar Gelde, who was to help her should her manners lapse.

As he carved, Stefan tried to summon the Christmas spirit. The penthouse apartment was bedecked and fragrant, the women in their jeweled colors, the men in black and white, capturing the season with elegance. Behind him, in the sparkling view out to the city’s heart, Stefan’s aerie stood eye-to-eye with the tallest of Portland’s office towers. He missed Dea’s real presence. You couldn’t hold a holographic woman. She searched for the ultimate Christmas present: her own name on an exotic natural orchid. He’d given her everything else, so now, he supposed, she must search for a gift worthy of herself.

Helice smiled at him as he filled her plate. She looked awful in blue. Her neck and décolletage—such as it was—held a yellow pallor. Without makeup she looked like she’d just stepped out of the shower and was ready for a jog. But damn lucky to have her. She could have gone with Generics last year, with that signing bonus they’d offered. Minerva had to offer partnership to get her. Cheap at any price. She was a few points to the right of ultrasmart, and he counted on her strategic wizardry to salvage Minerva’s fortunes.

Because the ships were falling apart. Replacement costs would be staggering. Replacing any of them would suggest that they all should be replaced, since they’d all been built at the same time, back in his grandfather’s day when Minerva had the depth to create an interstellar fleet and command the K-tunnels. Hoarding the technology of black hole stabilization, Minerva had preserved their monopolistic control of the star routes. Now the K-tunnels looked more like rat holes, eating capital, breaking ships down midvoyage, stranding passengers. The public perceived that the black holes were not as controllable as Minerva claimed. There was the perception that people were dying.

Stefan Polich had the perception that he was lunchmeat. He’d be out on his ass faster than Lamar Gelde when he rose from his boardroom chair and argued in favor of Titus Quinn’s delusional rantings.

And now came the last chance to recover: with an alternate route to the stars.

No one, looking at the data from the Appian II runaway, would have thought of
path to the stars
, not right away. But put the physicists’ interpretations of the radiation into the same bag with Quinn’s claim of a hidden dimension—where he claimed to have spent
ten years
—and one suddenly had a hypothesis worth testing.

It was the
ten years
part that intrigued Stefan the most. Even without any evidence of aging, Quinn was adamant that he’d been there a number of years. So if that place existed, time might be warped there. And since space and time were but two ends of a continuum, the space aspect of it, three-dimensional space, might be warped as well—warped to humanity’s benefit. The other place might be a shortcut to the stars. And if it was, it might allow Minerva to abandon the Kardashev black holes that many people saw as suicide holes. Very few people who weren’t physicists ever believed that they were
tunnels
. The original designation was
black hole
, and the name had stuck. Now there was a fleeting possibility of a new lease on life. If the new universe could be leased, by God, Minerva’s lawyers would nail it.

He looked down on his plate of glazed ham and felt ill.

“A new species of spathulata,” Dea was saying, shimmering in her chair, eating from a half coconut shell. “Imagine my disappointment when I found out that Jordy found it already, and named it after his Pomeranian.”

“You’ll find your orchid,” Helice said. “Some of those jungles have never seen a human footprint. It almost makes me want to go have a look-see.”

Stefan groaned inwardly. The last thing Dea needed was competition from twenty-year-olds. He intervened. “More ham?”

She smiled, patting her waistline. “Don’t be mean.”

Meanwhile his mother was slapping at Lamar. “Stop helping me. When did you become such a fussy eater, Lamar?”

Mother was having a lucid moment, glaring at Lamar, who, approaching seventy-five, looked like a ruin, his former robust frame now crumpled in on itself like a partially deflated balloon.

A crash came from the foyer. One of the servants caught Stefan’s look and exited to check.

In another moment the sounds intensified with shuffling feet and someone’s harsh voice raised. Stefan put his napkin down and rose from his chair just in time to see Titus Quinn appear in the doorway along with the doorman, who struggled to keep hold of his arm.

“Let go of him,” Stefan said. The doorman reluctantly released his grip, and, at a nod from Stefan, retreated.

Quinn wore a white home-knit fisherman’s sweater, and gray wool pants a couple inches too short. He stood blinking in the brightly lit room, surveying the guests, the table, and Stefan.

Stefan exchanged glances with Helice. How the hell had the man gotten into this secure building? “Titus,” he said. “Merry Christmas, man, glad to see you.”

“Cheers, yourself.”

“We’ll set another place. Come in.” Stefan gestured the servers to create another place setting, but Quinn held up a hand.

“No, can’t stay. Places to go.” He was staring at the chandelier now, as though hypnotized.

Dea asked from her pup tent, “Stefan, who is this person in the badly fitting sweater?”

Helice said pointedly, “Perhaps the two of you would enjoy a sherry on the porch, Stefan. I’ll host the table. We can get along without you, don’t worry.”

Quinn approached the table. “Lamar,” he said, eyeing the man. “Sorry about the other day. Not your fault. It’s just that I’m a little sensitive about
family
.” He smiled. “Don’t like to hear them threatened with ruin.” He turned to Stefan. “That was the gist of it, wasn’t it? Ruin?”

Stefan was at his side, taking him by the arm. “Let’s have a drink. Alcohol covers a lot of sins. Even mine.”

Letting himself be led to the sliding doors, Quinn muttered, “Probably we won’t want to talk about
sin
, Stefan. I might have to kill you.”

Chuckling, Stefan nodded at the butler. “Two sherries,” he said, and crossed through the window wall onto the terrace.

They walked out into a perpetual summer, thanks to the climate modifiers that controlled for wind and temperature.

Quinn followed Stefan through a rooftop garden of exotic plants, all in darkness now, so as not to ruin the city view from the dining room table. As flower fragrances hovered, they snaked through frondy palms, and topiary firs in the shape of mythical beasts.

He passed a rosebush, the blooms gray in the darkness.

“I didn’t think roses grew outside in winter,” Quinn said, following Stefan to the railing.

“They can be forced.” He led Quinn to the railing where he could show off his view.

“She’s a wonder, that wife of yours.”

Stefan looked surprised. “Oh. Well, she has gardeners now. Used to do it all herself, but now she’s . . .” He paused. “I never know what to say to you, Quinn. Everything seems wrong. Why is that?”

A servant appeared with their sherries. Quinn slugged his back, put it back on the tray, empty. “You might try not killing people, Stefan. Makes a bad impression every time.”

Stefan kept his sherry, sipping at it, eyeing Quinn as the servant retreated.

Quinn moved to the patio edge and looked down—not out at the view of the city, but down at the sixty-three-story drop. Formidable, but dwarfed by the miles-high drop to the silver ocean of his dream.

When he looked back at his host again, Stefan looked worried. “Think I was going to jump?” Quinn cocked his head. “Disappointed?”

Stefan sighed. “Ah yes, the theory that we are trying to murder you.” A crumpled smile started across his face, then stopped.

Quinn said, “I have a fee.” At Stefan’s nod, Quinn went on, “Forty million. Deposited prior to my departure in the account of Rob and Caitlin Quinn.”

“Forty million. Christ.”

“Okay, twenty million.”

Now a genuine smile lit up Stefan’s face. “You always were a lousy negotiator.”

“I’m not negotiating. I’m just trying to go home.” What was he saying? Why had he called the other place
home
? Maybe because his family was there.

“You’ll agree then? To go?” Stefan blinked as though he’d just woken up.

“Smarter than you look, Stefan.” Quinn leaned on the railing and looked down once more. He envisioned Caitlin falling, her long hair flailing overhead, screaming in spite of her resolve to sacrifice herself for him. He saw little Emily falling, her hands forming a prayer in front of her as she dove.

“Sign me up.”

“For the whole shebang?” A woman was standing amid the date palms.

Quinn faced her, trying to remember who she was. “Um. Am I supposed to know you?”

“Yes. You’re supposed to know Helice Maki.” She came forward to reveal herself as a youngster in a grown-up gown and a sporty haircut.

He did remember this woman’s name. She was the youngster with too many degrees. The one who was nuts about animals and could let a hundred people die on a space platform.

“Yes,” Quinn said, “whole shebang. Price okay?”

Stefan hesitated. “Twenty million . . .”

“You’ve got the checkbook,” Helice said.

Stefan nodded. Just the slightest tilt of his chin.

God, but Quinn disliked the sight of the man. “Okay, then.” He turned to go.

“Wait,” Stefan said. “You don’t even have your marching orders yet. For twenty million dollars, I think we have the right to some product delivery.”

Quinn turned back. Oh, right, they expected that if he survived, he would accomplish something for them. The mission that would make it worth their while. The thing he’d have to pretend to care about delivering.

“Send Lamar to brief me. I’ve used up my Stefan Polich time.” He tried and failed to keep the sneer out of his voice. “I’m on a strict Stefan Polich diet.”

Helice cocked her head at him. “You already look pretty trim to me.”

Jesus, was the girl flirting with him? He looked beyond her, into the rooftop jungle, wondering if he could find his way out of here for a breath of fresh air. He did need a good, cleansing breath, because it was starting to hit home. He was going. Everything would change—his whole life, with any luck at all. But no, he didn’t want to think about luck, or hope, or bringing back what was gone. Yet the thought filled him with a slow, banked fire.

Okay, I’m hoping, he thought. Damn it, Caitlin, I’m hoping. The twenty million is just for show. I’d go for nothing. Probably Stefan Polich knows that, so it just kills him to have to pay it.

“You’ll be part of a team, of course,” Stefan said.

“Team?”

“You’ll be along as expert guide. But I’m sending one of our own to evaluate the prospects.”

Helice drew closer to Quinn. “Didn’t Lamar tell you we’d want our own representative?”

“No.”

Stefan drew himself up, so tall that he looked almost inhuman. “Booth Waller is going with you.”

“Booth . . .” Quinn said. “Your henchman with the beady eyes?”

Helice heard Booth’s name with incredulity. Booth Waller? No, that was ludicrous. But here Stefan had decided on Booth without telling her, without giving her a chance to weigh in. She caught Stefan’s eyes, and he had the decency to look contrite. But
Booth Waller
. In her kingdom. It was all she could do to control her reaction. Stefan hadn’t even had the decency to inform her first. She loathed him.