Alex Benedict 07 - Coming Home (6 page)

It’s hard to imagine what it will be like opening homes to sons and daughters, to mothers and fathers written off years ago as dead. To seeing again old friends thought lost. There will be a powerful effect from this strange event because we can hardly help being reminded of the impact on our lives of the people around us.

—Editorial,
Andiquar Herald
, Janus 3, 1435

Casmir Kolchevsky showed up the following day on
Jennifer in the Morning
. Kolchevsky was small and compact, a guy who always looked as if he were about to explode. He had scruffy black hair and eyes like those of a cat watching a squirrel. That was when he was feeling friendly. He liked to preach, to make it clear that very few could meet his high intellectual and ethical standards. Whenever he showed up on one of the talk shows, I got uncomfortable because Alex was one of his favorite targets.

Kolchevsky was an archeologist. He claimed to have been a friend of Gabe’s though I never saw any evidence of it, and he resented Alex because he made a living trading and selling artifacts that he felt belonged to everyone. He’d said on several occasions that Alex had betrayed the family name. That he was nothing better than a grave robber. But this time, he did not come after us.

The conversation was about the historical information that had already been gleaned from the passengers who’d been aboard the
Intrépide
.
“We’re now able to talk to people who were actually alive during the Dark Age. Think about that for a minute. We can acquire some historical knowledge, some serious insights, by sitting down with someone who was there. I’ll tell you, Jennifer, we live in a remarkable time.”

Kolchevsky’s tone made it clear that he knew everything of significance. No one else’s opinion mattered. Which was why listening to him go on about somebody else’s perspective came as something of a jolt. Jennifer agreed that he had a point, and asked what he thought could be learned from people who’d begun life in a different era.

“So far,”
he said,
“they’ve shown us they were as indifferent about what was happening in their time as we are in ours. Imagine being alive during the Dark Age, when civilization was crumbling. When it looked as if everything was coming apart. When we had starships but no control over the economic and political systems. All I’ve heard these survivors talk about is what was going on in their personal lives. Were they concerned that things were getting worse and would probably deteriorate completely? That humanity might never recover? I’ve heard almost nothing about that. It was all about whether they had a job.”

“Come on, Casmir,”
said Jennifer,
“there’ve only been two people who go back that far. And they’re only kids. You’re going to have to wait awhile to talk to the adults from that period. The
Intrépide
won’t be back for, what, seventy or eighty years?”

“That’s true, Jennifer. But do you really think the parents of these kids will be any different? No. We know what these people did. How they just stood around and let the world go to hell. Let the oceans rise. Let whole species go extinct. You think they’re going to care? They probably won’t have even noticed unless their paychecks got cut off.”

I stayed with the show not because I wanted to hear what he had to say but because I was waiting for him to give Alex some credit. Without him, I wanted to scream at the little idiot, none of this would be happening.

And finally, near the end, he actually reached out.
“I guess we owe all this to Alex Benedict. I’ve been a bit hard on him in the past. Although he certainly deserved it. But to be fair, I should admit that he’s done a serious service for these people. Saved their lives.”
He smiled across the room at me, that wooden, forced grin that moved his lips without creating any sense of warmth.

*   *   *

When Alex came downstairs, I asked whether he’d seen the show.

“No,” he said. “Why?”

“Your buddy was on.”

“Which one?”

“Kolchevsky.”

Alex immediately looked weary.

“No,” I said, “he was okay. In fact, he gave you credit for finding the
Capella
.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Cross my heart.”

“All right. Good. Remind me to send him a Christmas card this year.”

*   *   *

One of the panel shows,
Four Aces
, spent time discussing whether they shouldn’t go ahead with manipulating the drive unit to prevent the
Capella
from disappearing again. They seldom agreed on anything. But on this occasion, they’d obviously heard about JoAnn’s experiment. And they were united in opposing any effort to manipulate the star drive.
“They got lucky with the yacht, they admit that, and they’re saying there’s no way to be sure what would happen if they start playing around with the
Capella
. So if that’s the case, why would anyone want to take chances with the lives of twenty-six hundred people?”

*   *   *

Shortly after that, Casmir Kolchevsky went missing. I saw the first report on the morning news two days later. Jennifer brought in Jeri Paxton, an anthropologist and a friend of Kolchevsky’s to talk about it. Jeri was probably well into her second century, but she retained much of the vigor of youth.
“The only thing I know, Jen,”
she said,
“was that his AI became concerned when he didn’t come home for two consecutive nights. Drill—that’s the AI, and don’t ask about the name—called police. As of now, we just have no idea what happened to him.”

“Have you ever heard of his doing something like this before?”

“No, I haven’t. Casmir has always lived by an orderly schedule. I had a chance to talk with Drill last night. He says this is a completely new experience.”

“So there’s reason to be worried.”

“I’m afraid so, yes. And I’ll tell you, Casmir seems to some people to have a rough edge, but he’s really one of the kindest, gentlest men I know. He’s one of a kind, Jennifer. I really hope, wherever he is, that he’s okay. If you can hear me out there, Cas, call. Please.”

*   *   *

The rational thing to do would have been to leave it to the police to find him. But Alex has never been willing to stay out of this type of affair. “I’m surprised,” he told me, “that he has no avatar. Guy like that, with that immense ego, you’d expect there’d be one to represent his various contributions to research and tell us about his awards. But there’s nothing.”

“Why were you looking?”

“He’s disappeared, Chase. Or didn’t you notice?”

I ignored the question. “I remember his talking about it one time. The avatar, that is.”

“Where was that?”

“Give me a minute.” I did a quick search and came up with a three-year-old episode of
The Charles Koeffler Show
. Koeffler notes that Kolchevsky has no avatar, and that it would be easier for hosts to prepare better programing if one were available.

“Most people,”
the host said,
“especially those who are well-known, maintain an online presence. I wonder, could you—?”

“Of course they do, Charles.”
Kolchevsky’s smile revealed that he was tolerant of his host’s lack of insight.
“Some of us, most of us, I guess, feel a need to establish that we matter. That we leave a mark. But putting a babbling version of yourself out there for every idiot to talk to doesn’t get the job done. In fact, all it
does
accomplish is to waste time.”
Koeffler looked about to jump in, but Kolchevsky waved him off.
“I’m not saying everyone who puts a version of himself online is an idiot, Charles. What I am saying is that our time is limited. If we really want to accomplish something, then by God we should do it. And stop the posturing.”

“Are you saying you’ve never had an avatar?”

He snorted.
“When I was sixteen, I had one. The girls all laughed at it.”
He sat back, amused at the recollection as the mood lightened.
“There was one girl in particular whom I just loved. In the way that only a sixteen-year-old can. She told me that she could go for the avatar and wished I were more like him.”

“So you took it down?”

“Charles, do
you
have one of those things?”

Koeffler turned it into a joke without answering, and they went to another subject.

Alex shook his head. “If you’re in business,” he said, “you
have
to have one of those things.”

I couldn’t resist laughing. Alex was also amused. “I wonder,” he said, “what happened to him? To Kolchevsky.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

“Well, I suspect he’s made a few enemies.”

“You don’t think somebody actually took him down, do you?”

“No, not really. The people he usually went after weren’t the type to resort to violence.”

“So what do you think?”

“I’ve no idea. For all we know, he might have fallen into the Melony. But that probably didn’t happen or we’d have gotten a pollution problem.”

“Alex—”

“Okay, I’ll stop. Let me know if you hear anything. If anybody calls, tell them to check with our clients. He might be out berating one of them.” He checked the time. “Have to go,” he said. “Got an auction.”

He rarely brought anything of value back from the auctions, but it happened occasionally. And business was slow. He’d been gone about an hour when we got a call from Fenn Redfield, the police inspector.
“Hi, Chase,”
he said.
“Is Alex there?”

“He’s downtown on business, Fenn. Can I help you?”

“You know that Kolchevsky’s gone missing?”

“Yes. Is Alex a suspect?” I couldn’t resist myself.

“Not yet,”
he said.
“Kolchevsky seems to have just walked off the planet. We’re talking to everybody we know who had any kind of connection with him. I’m hoping Alex might have an idea where he could have gone.”

“If he did, Fenn, he wasn’t telling me about it. But I’ll put you through to him. Hold on a second.”

*   *   *

That evening, I closed the office and headed for dinner with friends. Afterward, we went to a concert, drank a little too much, and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Later, when I got home, I felt moderately guilty for having a good time while Kolchevsky was maybe dying somewhere. I don’t know why that was. I had no more affection for the guy than Alex did. Still, I guess, when people get in trouble, you forget about the kind of treatment you’ve received from them.

He’d lectured me a couple of times, and hadn’t been the only one to warn me that one day I’d regret helping Alex loot the past. That was actually the way he’d phrased it.

I don’t know. Sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about the operation we run. I understand that it would be nice if all these artifacts were placed where anyone could see them. But I’ve also seen the pure joy that accompanies ownership. I’ve watched older people, who’ve achieved pretty much everything you could ask from life, just light up when Alex delivered an artifact they’d been pursuing. Especially one touched, or used, by an historical figure. It’s not the same as being able to stand in a museum and admire something in a glass case. It has to do with
owning
the thing. With being able to take Byrum Corble’s link—the little silver one shaped like a dragon—being able to take it home and put it on display over the mantel.

There are a lot of artifacts. It seems to me there are plenty for public display, and more than enough left over for private collectors. So why not? Why do museums have to control them all?

Why do I feel I have to justify what we do?

When I went to bed, nothing had changed regarding Kolchevsky. He was by then missing almost three days.

In the morning, though, there was news: His skimmer had been found. On the parking lot at a restaurant at the foot of Mt. Barrow. Barrow was about fifteen miles northwest of Andiquar. The police were concentrating their search in that area.

“Why are you so caught up in this thing?” I asked Alex. “That guy never had a kind word for either of us.”

“Just curiosity, Chase. I’ll admit I didn’t care much for him.”

“I think he was jealous of you. Take it as a compliment.”

His face took on a tolerant expression. “I’d have a hard time believing that.”

“Were you able to give Fenn any information?”

“Not really. A couple of names of people Kolchevsky was associated with. He probably already had them. But otherwise I had nothing. I didn’t know anything about his personal life.”

We sat down in the kitchen at the country house, and he poured coffee for us. “Did you get anything at the auction yesterday?”

“There were a couple of minor items I thought about picking up. A dress that belonged to Sonia Calleda. She wore it in”—he checked his notes—“
Virgin Spring
. It was in good shape, and I thought they were underestimating the value.”

“But you didn’t opt for it?”

“It’s not exactly our style.” He tried the coffee. “There was also a locket that Pyra Cacienda wore on her Victory tour back at the turn of the century. Again, probably seriously undervalued.”

“But—?”

“I don’t know. I backed off. Pure instinct, I guess.”

He left to go confer with one of our clients. It had something to do with artifacts from the Mute War. Rainbow didn’t actually own any, of course, but we specialized in putting clients together. And, on occasion, when we’d gotten some information, we’d converted ourselves into archeologists and gone out to see what we could find. We were actually pretty good at that. Gabe, of course, had been a dedicated archeologist, and Alex had learned from him. We both had.

*   *   *

Larry Earl called. “I don’t really have anything more on my father-in-law, Chase,” he said, “except that I remember his telling me that he’d gone to the site of the Florida Space Museum.”