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Finish Line by Stephen
Goldin
PROLOGUE
When Man expanded his horizons into space, he did so with more
enthusiasm than common sense. The invention of hyperspace-drive
signaled an explosion of emigration the likes of which had never been seen
before in human history. But such rapid shifts brought vast problems.
Hyperspace, which acted for some peculiar reason like a viscous
medium, allowed ships to travel between the stars in a few days or weeks.
But, unfortunately, no faster way was found to send a message between
stars than by putting a letter aboard a ship. This delay in communications
meant that no interstellar government could hope to be truly effective. A
few loose confederations of planets were attempted, but they rapidly fell
apart amid distrust and misunderstanding.
In the midst of this interstellar anarchy rose a phenomenon known as
Society. This clique was composed of the wealthiest families in human
space—families whose founders had, for the most part, made their
considerable fortunes in the early days of space travel, before the social
lines became so stratified. At first the infighting was fierce, as members of
this elite group vied with one another for the top financial position. But
once it became obvious that more than enough money was spread among
them, the members of Society turned their attention to ways of
distinguishing themselves from the so-called common people.
They went to great lengths to do this. They developed a system of
etiquette and behavior as convoluted as it was hypocritical. They staged
elaborate parties for themselves all over the Galaxy. They had little
concept of morality or legality. Why should they? With the lack of
interstellar government, the members of Society, who could afford to
 
travel regularly between star systems, were beyond the reach of the mores
and laws of any one planet.
But any group requires some method of satisfying its competitive
urges. Society solved that problem by inventing a series of Games to
occupy its members' time. Some of the Games were intellectual in nature,
others were physical. Many were a combination of both. A good
Gamesplayer ranked very highly in the artificial strata of Society.
Of all the Games Society played, the most important—held only once
every 20 years—was the Scavenger Hunt.
CHAPTER ONE
The reporter stood on the hard ground of the Midway Spaceport,
staring up at the monstrous ship towering over her. At 37 meters, the
Honey B was by far the largest private space yacht ever constructed,
matched in size only by the large commercial vessels that ferried cargo
between the stars. Rumor had it that the inside of the ship was equally
impressive, though few people were lucky enough to be invited to see
it—as she was, right now.
Gulping down her nervousness, the reporter walked to the gravtube and
pressed the button to activate its field. As she and her equipment were
lifted up the gantry that paralleled the side of the ship, she resolved to be
positive and dynamic during this interview. She didn't know why Bred
deVrie had picked her for the assignment, since someone of his stature
could have had any of a hundred more famous journalists, but she did
know that she intended to make the most of her opportunity. She was only
a junior reporter, more accustomed to covering crime and sports than
Society, and she had been as surprised as anyone when Master deVrie had
accepted her application to write his tale. This could be just the sort of
story that would make her career, though, and she was damned if she'd
miss it.
She reached the top and rang the bell beside the airlock door. There
was an agonizing period of silence before a male voice came over the
intercom. "Who's there?"
"This is Shino Kimatsan. I… I have an appointment to interview Master
deVrie and his crew." Silently, she cursed herself for her momentary
hesitation. That was hardly the style for an important, self-confident
 
journalist to affect.
With a faint sigh, the hatch door slid open and Shino peered inside.
The ship's interior was dark compared to the bright daylight of the
spaceport field, and it was impossible for her to see anything right away.
That same male voice said, "Won't you please come in, Mistress
Kimatsan?" Obediently, she entered.
Stepping through the large air lock, she entered the ship, set her
holocorder down on the floor and realized she was standing upon
carpeting. As her eyes became accustomed to the dimmer light she looked
around the room and could not suppress a tiny gasp. She had not expected
to find anything like this inside a spaceship.
The room was shaped like a wedge of a cylinder. Behind her stood a
nine-meter-long outer wall and some distance ahead of her the inner wall
stretched for a mere one and one half meters—and this mostly door. Four
meters overhead was the ceiling. The floor was of inlaid marble, with
several large oriental rugs scattered about. The walls were covered with
velvet wallpaper in different shades of green; several large "family
portraits" in ornate wooden frames were hung at intervals, while imitation
gaslights on the walls provided the illumination.
The furniture consisted of a two-and-a-half-meter-long sofa ranged
along one wall and six wildly over-padded chairs. A small spinet stood in
one corner, a grandfather clock in another. The furniture all looked
antique—the term "Victorian" came to her mind—though Shino guessed
that it would only be simulated at best. Not that Bred deVrie couldn't
afford genuine antiques—the deVrie family was one of the wealthiest in
Society—but whatever was inside this ship would have to withstand
several gravities of acceleration every time the ship landed or took off, and
Shino doubted that the real thing could hold up under such stress. Still, it
made an instant impression.
"I see you like my Drawing Room," the male voice continued. "It's
simple, but it's homey."
The sound brought her attention back to the matter at hand. Standing
in front of her was a man who could only be the famous—or should that be
notorious?—Bred deVrie. In Society, where the people prided themselves
on being different. Master deVrie had a reputation as being in a class by
himself. Yet, at first glance, Shino wondered how that could possibly have
 
come about.
She had been prepared to meet a disreputable scoundrel, a giant or a
dwarf, someone with a half-mad gleam in his eye. Instead, the man she
faced was of a jovial mien, who would hardly stand out in a crowd of more
than three. He was of medium height, and his body was pleasantly
rounded without quite being fat. The corners of his mouth dimpled when
he smiled, which he was doing now. His eyes glittered with the joy of
living.
"You must be Bred deVrie," she blurted out.
The man shrugged. "We all must be somebody, I suppose."
It was only after staring at him for several seconds that Shino realized
why Bred deVrie had gained such a reputation for eccentricity. He was
almost the total antithesis of everything the Society male should be.
Fashion called for men to shave a part at least three centimeters wide
from front to back of their heads and have it tattooed in outrageous
designs; Bred's natural brown hair was unparted, cut fairly short by
contemporary standards, and tended to curl unexpectedly down onto his
forehead. Small goatees were the rage, yet Bred's beard and mustache
were full and of a reddish tinge. Society men were absolute peacocks,
adorned in bright clothes and flashy jewelry; Bred wore no jewelry and
was dressed in a spacer uniform of glossy black. And… he was wearing an
odd appurtenance across his eyes and the front of his nose. It hooked
behind his ears and seemed to change the whole nature of his face.
Bred caught her staring and smiled. "I'll bet you've never seen anything
like these before," he said, removing the awkward contraption.
"I… I must admit I haven't. What is it?"
"They were called glasses or spectacles several centuries ago and were
worn by people with defective vision. The glass was ground into lenses to
compensate for natural inadequacies in the eyes. That was long before
optical microsurgery could correct such things at birth."
"Is there something wrong with your eyes?" Shino asked, wondering at
her own concern.
"Space, no. I just like them because they look so terribly decadent." He
 
grinned widely and donned the glasses again. They made his eyes appear
very large indeed. "But you didn't really come here to talk about my
glasses, did you?"
Shino felt rather foolish. Of course not. She had come to talk about the
Scavenger Hunt; it was the only subject anyone was talking about these
days. Especially on Midway, where all the contestants were stopping for
the Midway Ball during the Hunt. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever
to stop the Hunt right in the middle to have a party; but then, Society's
events rarely made sense.
"No," she blushed, "I came to find out how you're doing in the Hunt."
"I'm going to lose, if that's what you mean."
His straightforward manner caught her by surprise. Granted, the Hunt
was a difficult Game and few people ever really expected to win; but even
so, Bred was a deVrie… and of the previous seven Hunts that had been
run, deVries had won four. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because I'm not competing any more," Bred said simply. "I'm
dropping out as of Midway." Noting the surprised expression on her face,
he added, "Don't look so stunned; it's perfectly legal, you know."
"But… but nobody just drops out. Even if you only go through the
motions, you're supposed to play through to the end."
"Well, someone forgot to write that into the official Rules. Cheer up.
Mistress Kimatsan. You'll have it as an exclusive story."
His last word brought her mind back to her reason for being here. She
was supposed to get a story— his story. The Scavenger Hunt was so
dramatic an event that the general public wanted to know everything
about it and the contestants. She was here to write an article, and she had
better concentrate on that fact.
All business now, she asked, "Would you care to tell me why you're
dropping out?" She turned on her holocorder: it would make an
audio-visual record of this event.
"Well, there are some personal reasons between my sister and myself
that would take too much time to go into, and would serve no point.
 

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