Free The Planet on the Table by Kim Stanley Robinson Page B

passed over us, and suddenly the twelve tracks and the stars between them were visible again. “Now we’d better hurry,” said Freya. Above us the very top of the Dawn Wall flared a brilliant white; sunlight was striking that surface, only two hundred meters above us. Dawn was not far away. In the glare of reflected light we could see the heavily, tire-printed ground under the cylinders perfectly, and for a while our eyes were nearly overwhelmed. “Look!” Freya cried, shielding her eyes with one hand and pointing up at the sun-washed slope of the city wall with the other. “It’s the inspiration for our Monet, don’t you think?”
    Despite our haste, the great Rouen cathedral of Mercury pulled away from us. “This won’t do,” Freya said. “Only a bit. more to the car, but we have to hurry. Here, Arnold, let me carry you—” and she ran, carrying Arnold piggyback, the rest of the way to the car. As we maneuvered him through the lock, a tongue of the sun’s corona licked briefly over the horizon, blinding us. I felt scorched; my throat was dry. We were now at the dawn edge of the terminator zone, and east-facing slopes burned white while west-facing slopes were still a perfect black, creating a chaotic patchwork that was utterly disorienting. We rolled into the car after Arnold, and quickly drove west, passing the city, returning to the night zone, and arriving at a station where we could make the transfer into the city again. Freya laughed at my expression as we crossed the gap. “Well, Nathaniel,” she said, “home again.”
    *   *   *
    The very next day Freya arranged for those concerned with the case to assemble on Heidi’s patio again. Four police officials were there, and one took notes. The painting of the cathedral of Rouen was back in its place on the villa wall; George Butler and Harvey Washburn stood before it, while Arnold Ohman and Heidi paced by the patio’s edge. Lucinda and Delaurence, the cook, watched from behind the patio bar.
    Freya called us to order. She was wearing a severe blue dress, and her white-blond hair was drawn into a tight braid that fell down her back. Sternly she said, “I will suggest to you an explanation for the death of Sandor Musgrave. All of you except for the police and Mr. Sebastian were to one extent or another suspected of killing him, so I know this will be of great interest to you.”
    Naturally there was an uneasy stir among those listening.
    “Several of you had reason to hate Musgrave, or to fear him. The man was a blackmailer by profession, and on Earth he had obtained evidence of illegalities in the merger Heidi and George made five years ago, that gave him leverage over both of you. This and motives for the rest of you were well established during the initial investigation, and we need not recapitulate the details.
    “It is also true, however, that subsequent investigations have revealed that all of you had alibis for the moment when Musgrave was struck down. Lucinda and Delaurence were together in the kitchen until Lucinda left to investigate the shout she heard; this was confirmed by caterers hired for the Solday party. Heidi left the patio shortly before Musgrave was found, but she was consulting with Hiu and the orchestra during the time in question. George Butler went into the house with Arnold Ohman, but they were together for most of the time they were inside. Eventually George left to go to the bathroom, but luckily for him the orchestra’s first clarinetist was there to confirm his presence. And fortunately for Mr. Ohman, I myself could see him from the patio, standing in the hallway until the very moment when Lucinda screamed.
    “So you see”—Freya paused, eyed us one by one, ran a finger along the frame of the big painting—”the problem took on a new aspect. It became clear that, while many had a motive to kill Musgrave, no one had the opportunity. This caused me to reconsider. How, exactly, had Musgrave been killed? He was