I regarded the whole cargo bay with distaste. It was not an appropriate resting place for a murdered girl. On the other hand, it would surely never be one. “Suppose that Doris Wu’s body really had been found and brought here by a shuttle,” I said. “Where would it have been placed?”
“In one of the cupboards, mebbe?” Seth moved forward and opened one. “Like this.”
“No.” I could see inside, and the RV jacket’s enhanced optics gave me a clearer view than Seth. “It’s dusty. No one would risk contamination before security had done their inspection for evidence, and that won’t happen until the particle storm is over.”
“Then it has to be put somewhere over there.” Seth turned, so that I again had a view of the far end of the chamber. “Looks like the cleaning machines work the main chamber, but not the cupboards. Hang it on one of the support points, an’ it won’t be disturbed.”
“Then let us proceed.” In spite of the fact that at least an hour would elapse before anything could be expected to happen, I was filled with a disquieting sense of urgency. Patience has its limits. This promised to be the culmination of more than a month of frustrating inaction, and I could hardly wait.
Seth carefully suspended the cloth-wrapped figure between two of the web nodes, then moved back to admire his work. “That do?”
“It will be fine.” I wanted to head at once into hiding, but now it was Seth who displayed the caution and attention to detail that should have been mine.
“Hold on a minute,” he said. “Better make sure you can see it easy from every way in.”
He was right, of course. I restrained my impatience as he went slowly and carefully to each entry point of the cargo bay, moved outside, and then came in again. We agreed, the white figure would catch the eye at once no matter where a person chose to enter the chamber.
“So now let us make sure we are not equally visible,” I said. “I suggest the storage cupboard over on the extreme right, where the light is dim.”
“In a minute.” Seth pulled a high-intensity beam weapon from his belt and subjected it to a thorough, and to my eye excessively lengthy, inspection.
“I thought we agreed that we do not anticipate violence,” I said.
“Mebbe we did, an’ mebbe you don’t.” Seth completed the leisurely review to his own satisfaction before slipping the weapon back into its holder. “I been shot at too many times to take the chance. It ain’t your ass on the line if things go bad. If it don’t work out right, you’ll be laughin’ an’ scratchin’ back in Ireland with your feet up, while I’m up here pullin’ arrows out of my tuckus.”
It was compelling and undeniable logic. I waited quietly while Seth, muttering complaints, established himself within the storage cupboard. Then it was my turn to object.
“If I am to play any useful part at all in this proceeding,” I said, “it is essential that I see what is happening. My entire view of Sky City is at the moment limited to the two square feet of storage locker visible from the RV jacket.”
“It has to be like that if you want me stuffed inside this cupboard.”
“Then let me make an alternative suggestion. Whatever happens next will take place within this chamber. Remove the jacket and hang it in the darkest corner. I will be able to see, and I can offer my comments to you through your earpiece.”
“I thought you wanted me hidden out of the way ASAP.” But Seth climbed out of the cupboard, irritatingly slowly, and removed the jacket. For a few seconds my view was a collage of rotating snapshots of parts of the cargo bay, overlain on the ghostly background of my own study in Otranto Castle. When it steadied I could see the whole chamber spread out before me. Seth, ten meters away, was sauntering back to his hideout in the cupboard. I noticed that in addition to the beam weapon he had an older projectile weapon in a rear holster. The folly of using high-speed bullets in an environment where momentum transfer was a major question and vacuum lay outside most walls was beyond dispute. On the other hand, as Seth had so succinctly pointed out, my ass was not on the line. The danger was all his.
Finally we were in position, and probably an hour early. Now there was nothing we could do but wait. And speculate.
What would happen here in the cargo bay? What would happen in the rest of Sky City as the particle bundles flooded in from space with ever-increasing numbers? And what would happen down on Earth, where my corporeal body resided?
Cargo Bay Fourteen was almost empty, but as the minutes slipped by it was far from silent. First there was an eerie creaking from the walls, evidence that some part of the structure of Sky City was under unusual stress. Then I heard a loud ping a few yards away, followed by a hissing sound that quickly faded. At the extreme edge of the RV jacket’s field of view I saw the hole left by the particle bundle. There had to be another one somewhere at the other side of the chamber. I searched carefully, and at maximum magnification I thought I could just make out a dark dot on the far wall.
“Looks like a few are gettin’ through,” Seth said calmly.
“Yes. I gather that is inevitable. Do you want to be in a suit?” Six of the dark spacesuits hung on an open rack midway between Seth and the RV jacket.
“Not worth it. The sealers can handle anythin’small. Anythin’ big comes along, a suit won’t be no help.” He paused, then added, ” ’Course, it won’t be too good if this place gets fulla little holes from the small stuff.”
There we have a typical Parsigian understatement. If Sky City were riddled by particle bundles, it would mean that the defensive system had failed. Seth, and eventually the whole of Earth, would probably die.
I waited and listened, gradually relaxing as no more noises of bundle impact sounded through the chamber. However, before I could be in any sense at ease, something else snapped me to full attention.
It came not via the RV helmet, but from within Otranto Castle. Not far from where I was sitting I heard a girl cry out.
I stood up at once and switched the helmet to local viewing. It was early afternoon, and sunny, and my study sprang into view in full color. I indulged in one rapid glance out of the window-no sign of any particle storm effects-then ran toward the kitchen.
As I suspected, a girl-no, three girls, Katherine, Charity, and Victoria-were there. Two of the tall kitchen cupboards stood open, heavy doors of dark oak thrown wide. The girls were rooting around inside. The cry that I had heard, I now realized, was Charity’s high-pitched and poorly suppressed snort of laughter.
I was in my stocking feet, and I made no sound even on the hard floor of gray slate. The girls remained unaware of my presence until I cried, “What the devil do you think you are doing?” They turned, and I went on, “I told you, the Alpha Centauri particle storm reaches its peak today. And you all promised that you would remain in the deepest cellars until I told you it was safe to come out. Why didn’t you keep your word?”
“We did.” Little Victoria, smallest of all my darlings, looked up at me with blue eyes filled with guilt. I saw that she was clutching an armful of jars and boxes. “We just came up for a minute. We were going straight back.”
“Why did you come up at all?” But I had already guessed the answer.
“For these,” Katherine said. She, like Victoria and Charity, was carrying a load of provisions. She held them out toward me. “We’re having a storm party. But there was nothing good to eat and drink.”
“Get back down there.” I turned away. “I don’t want anyone else up here, for any reason at all, until I come down and tell you that the storm is over.”
It is not clear to me whether the insouciance of youth will be the doom of humanity or its salvation. I prefer to think the latter, but I have my doubts. I made my way back to the study, returning the helmet to remote viewing as I did so.