Firebird (16 page)

But five hundred years is a long time. And Villanueva was an ideal world, a second Earth. Originally, it was simply a great spot for a vacation. Then it became home for some religious groups who preferred to be away from a terrestrial culture that many perceived as immoral and godless. There were some who maintained that the claims of approaching destruction were simply a conspiracy, put together by the wealthy, who wanted to keep this pristine world for themselves.

So people came. And many of them stayed. When the dust cloud finally arrived, their descendants were, incredibly, taken by surprise. Most must have thought they could ride it out. In any case, there were too many for an evacuation. To this day, it remains the worst catastrophe in history.

So why would Winter, and apparently Chris Robin, be going to Villanueva?

I showed the notation to Alex. “What happened to Indikar?” I asked.

The hours slipped by. Billy came in to ask if we'd made any progress. “Got a question for you,” said Alex. “Did your father ever mention Villanueva?”

“Where's that?” he asked.

“Pretty far from here.”

“It's on a different planet?”

“It
is
a different planet.”

“No,” he said. “Not that I can recall. The only place he ever went to was Indikar. Why do you ask?”

“He mentions it in one of his journals.”

Billy shook his head. “I can't recall anything about that. My understanding is that he and Robin only went to Indikar. Nowhere else. Maybe they intended to go there later.”

We enjoyed a salad and sandwiches out in the garden. “You should consider moving here,” Billy said, while a soft breeze whispered in the trees. “This is about as cold as it gets.”

“Did you ever meet Robin?” Alex asked.

“The first time I saw him was at the memorial service. For my father. Other than that, no. I don't even remember his name being mentioned except when my father was going on that flight.”

“He came to pay his respects?”

“Yes. At the time, I still couldn't really believe my dad wasn't coming home. I hadn't gotten used to it. We had a service, and Professor Robin came. I remember he was having a hard time himself. His voice broke up while he was speaking. He said it was all his fault. Took all the blame on himself. It started my mother crying again, and, pretty soon, everybody was hysterical.”

“He never explained precisely what happened?”

“They were apparently doing everything from orbit. But Dad wanted to land on the world, so they took him down and got attacked by a lizard.” He paused. “I don't remember whether Robin actually told us that or I read it later.

“Professor Robin stayed in touch with us. Always asked if there was anything he could do. There never was, of course. But looking back now, I know he tried to be a source of consolation to my mother. It didn't take, though. Then, when I was in college, he was gone, too.”

“You have any idea,” I asked, “what might have happened to him?”

“You mean his disappearance?” He shook his head. “None.” He finished his sandwich and sank back in his chair. The tree branches swayed gently. “I can't imagine what it might have been. I suspect he was probably drinking that night and just fell into the ocean.”

Alex decided to stay over one more day, but we needed somebody back at the country house. So I made arrangements to return to Andiquar that evening.

I rode back to Port Leo in a taxi. Jacob contacted me as I was entering the station.
“I know you don't like to be bothered on the road, Chase, but I got word today that Alex will receive the DiPreta Award.”
The award, named for the philanthropist Edward DiPreta, recognized contributions to interspecies understanding.
“First it was the Mutes,”
Jacob said.
“Then that business last year. I thought he'd like to know. The presentation will be made at the end of the month.”

“That's great news.”

“Yes. I was glad to hear it. He deserves some recognition. Lately it seems to have been nothing but criticism. Criticism by people who themselves have never contributed anything.”

“You've a point, Jacob. Anyhow, I'm not with him at the moment. I know he doesn't like to be called when he's out of the office, but I think we can make an exception for this. I'll let him know.”

“Very good, Chase. Umm—I was wondering—”

“Yes, Jacob?”

“Would it be okay with you if I—”

“You want to tell him.”

“I would like that very much.”

Two hours later, as I sat in my compartment, watching a dark landscape blur past, I got a call from Alex.
“Just wanted to make sure you got there okay.”

“I'm fine, Alex. On my way home now.”

“Good. No problem with tickets?”

“None.”

“Okay.”
He hesitated.
“Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

“No. I think that's it.”

“You already know, don't you?”

“Yeah. Congratulations.”

“Actually, there
is
something more.”

“What's that?”

“They're splitting the award this year.”

“Oh.” That had never happened before. “How could they do that?” I asked.

“Don't know. These things just happen, I guess.”

“Who else is getting it?”

“You are, Chase. Congratulations.”

Later, considerably later, I learned that Alex had insisted that the DiPreta Committee recognize me also. He tried to keep it from me but I'm too good at tracking down secrets.

I've spent too many years watching a pro at work.

FOURTEEN

Reputation is like youth. Once it's gone, it cannot be recovered.

—Clement Esteban,
Autobiography
, 2702
C.E.

I spent most of my first day back touching base with clients and catching up on the market. That evening, I was getting ready to go home when Alex called again, from his compartment on the glide train. “They haven't changed their minds about the award?” I said.

“Not that I'm aware. Though maybe we can arrange it if you think you don't deserve it.”

“No. I'll stick it out. What do you have?”

“I found something else of interest. I'm forwarding it now.”

Jacob put it on the display:

Triflis 1/12 4017

Abonai 7/11 4113

Grand Salinas 9/3 5396

Inaissa 1/16 6301

Saraglia 8/5 7661

Ilyanda 10/10 8377

Vendicari 12/22 9017

Earth 3/17 9638

Inaissa 2/9 9684

Fishbowl 5/18 10312

Pt. Edward 5/30 11107

Sanusar 7/1 11267

Tippimaru 4/13 11272

“It's from Winter's notebooks. No accompanying explanation.”

They were Confederate worlds. Four of them were uninhabited. The dates were in the base system. The current year, on Earth, was 11,321
C.E.
And I saw at once that the last two entries coincided with sightings.

“Those aren't the only two, Chase. The Point Edward, Fishbowl, and Inaissa dates also mark sighting occurrences. There was something near Earth on March 17, 9638, although I haven't been able to find details. I don't think there's any question these all mark Sanusar events.”

“So Winter was collecting information on sightings over the past, what, seven thousand years? That must have taken some major digging.”

“I'd think so.”

“Alex, wait. With that kind of time span, it's inevitable that occasionally a ship would wander in accidentally to a place where it wasn't expected. A lot of these would have to be false alarms.”

“I know. Probably most of them.”

“So why do we care?”

“Maybe because on two occasions Robin showed up in advance.”

“But not at Tippimaru.”

“Maybe he didn't know that one was coming. Maybe it was somebody who just wandered in. But the point is that Winter was collecting the data.”

“Alex, I have no idea what's going on.”

“There's something else you might be interested in.”

“What's that?”

“It doesn't have anything to do with the sightings, but Winter and Robin shared another interest: black holes. Winter has a list of them, about twenty, with their locations and their trajectories.”

“Alex, what could that have to do with the Sanusar events?”

It turned into a fairly raucous day. One client claimed we'd promised to get the pilot's seat from the
Seeker
for him. It's our policy to put clients in touch with one another. We don't commit to do any more than that, except in those relatively rare situations in which we actually
own
the desired artifact. The client hadn't been able to persuade the owner to sell, despite making offers that, I thought, were far more than the seat should have been worth. He was threatening to sue us, and I spent a large part of the morning trying to calm him down. The last thing he said to me was that he'd forget the suit, but he'd find another dealer since he couldn't trust us anymore.

And there was Miranda Shelton. “I think I found an alien ship,” she told me.

Miranda was one of those people who look absolutely bland. No energy animated her features. She was middle-aged. Average appearance. Bored and boring. The kind of person who, five minutes after meeting her, you would not have been able to pick her out of a lineup if your life depended on it. She showed up unexpectedly at the country house and wanted to talk with Alex.

“He's not here,” I said.

“Can I talk to you?”

I showed her to a chair. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

“I have an unusual problem,” she said.

“I'm listening.”

“I found an alien.” My stomach started to tighten. “I'm a pilot for TransWorld,” she explained. She did not look at all like a pilot. Or like anyone who did anything other than sit on a front porch.

“Okay.”

“I was carrying some biologists to a site in one of the systems—”

“Which system?”

“I'll tell you in a minute. The point is that I found a derelict. It was in orbit around one of the moons.”

“Really?”

“I ran images of it. There's no record of anything like it. I think it might be
alien.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't identify it. Aren't you listening?”

“Ms. Shelton, there are quite a few derelicts drifting around out there. A lot of them don't show up in the inventories. They're too old. The records have been lost.”

“That could be true,” she said. “On the other hand, who really knows?”

“You'll want to take a closer look.”

“Ms. Kolpath, my contract gives all recovery rights to my employer.”

“I see. So what are you going to do?”

“I plan to resign, wait awhile, then pursue the matter.”

“I don't think you should quit your day job.”

“What I'd like to know is, what would a discovery like that be worth?”

“You'd become famous,” I said. “You'd be a guest on all the talk shows. You'd get a huge book contract.”

“What about the ship itself? Would I be able to sell it?”

“I'm sure you could. I don't really know anything about alien vehicles.”

“All right. Thank you. Will you handle it for me?”

“Sure,” I said. “We'll help where we can.”

“Good. Thank you.” She smiled, and for the first time in a discussion that should have been emotional, I saw a trace of something. Hope, maybe. Exhilaration. I don't know. “I'll be back in a few months to let you know how it turns out.”

We didn't see her again.

There were a couple of other problems, though nothing quite like Miranda and the guy who wanted to sue us. I was glad to see the day come to an end. I was getting ready to go home when Emile Zuckerman arrived. Zuckerman was a client who collected Ashiyyurean art. He was also a physicist of considerable repute, having made contributions in chaos analysis that, simply put, were too complicated for any normal human to have the slightest idea what he was talking about. Or at least they were too far out for me. Unfortunately, he couldn't have given instructions on how to get a glass out of a cabinet without causing confusion. But I always played along when he called, nodding periodically as if I understood why causality broke down near black holes or why he needed a second artifact from the home of Ajax Bittman.

He was a little guy with a narrow build. He always managed to make me feel as if I shouldn't be let out by myself. His teeth were always visible, leaving the impression that he was looking for something to eat. He had a white beard and dark brown eyes that could not suppress a mischievous glint. I've always suspected he knew exactly what he was doing and enjoyed baffling the people around him. On this occasion, he spent a minute or two telling me how good I looked. Then he asked if Alex was available.

“He's traveling, Zuck,” I said. “Can I be of assistance?”

“Would it be possible to reach him?”

“It's not easy. What's it about?”

The lips exposed even more of his teeth. “I'd really like to talk with him, Chase. Please.”

Normally, I wouldn't have considered breaking into whatever Alex might be doing to put him on with Zuck. But I was looking at an unusual degree of intensity that afternoon. “Let me see what I can do,” I said.

I got him a drink and seated him in the conference room while Jacob put the call through. It went audio only. When Alex answered, I was back in my office. I could hear music and voices in the background and the clink of silverware.

“Zuck wants to speak to you, Alex,” I said. “It might be worth your time.”

“You don't know what it's about?”

“No.”

He sighed.

“I'm sorry.”

“Next time tell him I'm attending a funeral. Where is he now? In back?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Have Jacob switch me over, but stay with the call.”

“Why?”

“You know how he is. If he gets talking, find a reason to break in. Manufacture an emergency or something.”

I took a deep breath, got myself something to read, and switched in. They traded greetings.
“I hope,”
Zuck said,
“I'm not interrupting anything.”