“And now you’re into all kinds of shipboard furnishings.”

“And exteriors. The cosmetics, that is. We don’t do food anymore, by the way. That was sold off years ago. But we handle pretty much everything else.”

He took her down to operations to see the ship itself. It floated just off the wheel, connected by a support structure. A couple of technicians were replacing an antenna. “Is it going somewhere?” asked Kim.

“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 ram?”

“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 had a little trouble finding what he wanted. He was, after all, a public information officer. But after a few anxious minutes she watched an engineering history of the Equatorian Interstellar Vehicle (EIV) 4471886 begin to scroll across the screen. Jacob got up and gave her the seat.

Kim paged through as casually as she was able, commenting innocuously on grades of lubrication and periods between engine inspections, trying the whole time to sound as if she were only interested in generalities.

She took it back to the beginning. The Hunter went into service Midwinter 3, 544. “It takes a lot of work to keep one of these things operating,” she said innocently.

Isaacs agreed. She scrolled forward, locating and then familiarizing herself with the system which revealed the type of maintenance or repair and the signature of the technician. She noted the extensive maintenance performed toward the end of 572, prior to departure for St. Johns. Weeks later, a final inspection was completed at that distant outpost before the Hunter left for the Golden Pitcher.

On March 30 it was back at Sky Harbor, and another general inspection was done. She ran quickly through the items, and found that an air-lock door had been replaced in the port cargo hold, and the jump engines had required repairs. She wondered what the problem had been with the door, but the record didn’t say. As to the engines, she wasn’t skilled enough to understand the significance of the damages. She saw only that numbered parts were installed and the engine pronounced okay.

The name of the technician was Gaerhard. She couldn’t make out the first name. But it shouldn’t matter.

She passed on through a few more pages, thanked Jacob, and left.

7

The following evening, Kim caught a shuttle to the Star Queen Hotel. The onetime liner was brilliantly illuminated, and pictures from groundside showed that, at least for this one night, there was a new star in the heavens.

No two interstellar liners look completely alike. Even those sharing the same basic design are painted and outfitted so there can be no question of their uniqueness. Some have a kind of rococo appearance, like a vast manor house brought in from the last century; others resemble malls, complete with walkways and parks; and still others have the brisk efficiency of a modern hotel complex. Starships, of course, have few limitations with regard to design, the prime specification being simply that they not disintegrate during acceleration or course change.

The Star Queen looked like a small city on a dish. The approach tube was designed to provide maximum view. Kim had seen virtuals of the Queen, but the real thing, up close, took her breath away.

The new owners had worked hard to create the impression of a living vessel that might leave at any time for Sinus or Sol. An enormous digital banner amidships displayed her name in proud black letters.

There were about a dozen people in the shuttle. Most, she judged, were upper-level employees of various Sky Harbor corporations, coming over for the party. One of the men tried to engage her in conversation, but she squirmed and looked uncomfortable and he got the message. She was not necessarily averse to adventures on the road, but at the moment she was too deeply caught up in her own thoughts to spoil the occasion fencing with a prowling male.