Firebird (7 page)

The intruder never approached close to Rimway. According to authorities, it was at no time considered a threat. And they have stated they do not believe it to have been of alien origin. According to the spokesperson, it is deemed far more likely it was an experimental spacecraft and that its origin will become apparent within a short time. No one, however, could explain why it did not respond to repeated queries.

The private yacht was the
Breakwater
, owned and operated by Eliot Cermak. It was, unfortunately, unable to overtake the intruder. Pictures taken by Cermak indicate that the unknown ship simply accelerated well beyond the yacht's ability to stay close.

An investigation is under way.

“Cermak?” I said. “The same one who was ferrying Robin around?”

“Yes.”

“Do we know whether Robin was in the
Breakwater
at the time?”

“No. But I'd bet on it.”

“You don't believe in coincidence?”

“No.”

“But you think he was present for
two
sightings.”

“I didn't say
that
was a coincidence.”

“How could he possibly have known in advance?”

“I don't know, Chase. Answer that, and we'll be a step closer to finding out what happened to him.”

Alex made two more public appearances over the next few days, and was interviewed by the
Celestial,
a magazine that specialized in sensational stories. When I suggested he was playing into his critics, he told me it was product enhancement, and it was an essential part of the business.

It
was
working. Interest in the Robin artifacts continued to mount. Karen Howard got excited when she saw what was happening, and she called, insisting that we hold the auction while the demand was high.

“We're not ready yet,” Alex told her. “Give it some time.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Benedict?”
She did not sound comfortable with the idea.

“Everything's going our way, Karen. Let's just be patient for a bit longer.”

“All right. I'm sure you know what you're doing.”
Her tone suggested that was hardly the case.
“When do we plan on holding the auction?”

“We're watching the market. I'll let you know when we're ready to go.”

A few minutes later, Shara Michaels called. She blinked on in front of my desk, wearing a blue lab coat.
“How's the big sale going?”
she asked.

“Which one is that, Shara?”

“Robin.”

“Pretty well. Did you want to put in a bid for something?” Shara, of course, was a physicist.

“To be honest, I'm tempted.”

“Really?” That seemed out of character. There are two kinds of collectors: those who hope to acquire an artifact in order to make a profit down the line, and those who have a sentimental interest in the object. Shara didn't fit readily into either category. “Why's that?”

“I've been watching Alex. On the talk shows—”

“And—?”

“He makes Robin sound much more intriguing than I'd ever thought. I wouldn't mind having something of his around the apartment. To remind me to keep an open mind, maybe.”

“He is pretty good at that. Selling a story, I mean.”

“I guess. Did you know that Robin believed in a second life?”

“A lot of people do.”

“But not many physicists.”
She looked at me as if I were a bit slow-witted.
“He ran experiments to try to determine whether the mind, the soul, whatever, survived the death of the body. He was morbidly aware of his mortality. Couldn't stand the thought of dying.

“There were other things as well. He thought there had to be highly advanced civilizations scattered around the galaxy. He spent a lot of his time trying to find a way to communicate with them.”

“Sitting in a room with a transmitter?”

She laughed.
“Actually, yes. A hyper system of some sort. He was hoping to find a way through the borderlands.”
That was a reference to transdimensional space-time, which was still not well understood.
“Look, what I'm trying to say is that you guys should be aware that, obscured in all the eccentricities, the guy was a genius. But that's not the reason I called—Chase, I'm worried about Alex. He's taking a lot of criticism right now in the media. Is he okay?”

“He's fine, Shara. I think he's used to it.”

“Okay. I'm glad to hear it. If I can help in any way—”

“Sure, Shara. I'll tell him you called. We'll let you know if you can do anything.”

“Thanks.”
She started to disconnect, but hesitated.
“One more thing about Robin?”

“Yes?”

“I don't suppose his notebook's included among the artifacts? Or the house AI? I didn't see either listed.”

“No. We don't know what happened to the notebook. Elizabeth deleted the data banks in the AI so she wouldn't be tempted to bring him back.”

“I can understand that. Chase, if you come across a journal, a diary, anything like that, I'd like to know about it.”

“Okay.”

“It could have some very valuable stuff in it.”

“I'll ask his sister-in-law. Maybe she knows something more than she's told us.”

“Good. If you come up with anything, can I persuade you to call me first?”

“Sure, Shara.”

I called Karen Howard.
“No,”
she said.
“He
did
have a notebook. Used to carry it around with him a lot. But it wasn't among the stuff that came with the estate.”

“You're sure?”

“I'll check and get back to you.”

I'm not sure why, but I didn't much feel like going back to the mundane administrative tasks I'd been working on all day. I sank into my chair and found myself thinking about Gabriel Benedict, Alex's uncle, who'd hired me to work for the archeological team he'd led. I'd spent most of my time then in the field at his sites rather than in an office. But when we were at home, this had been our headquarters, and I'd been behind the same desk. There was a scratch across one side of it, where he and one of his colleagues had gotten careless and bashed a spade into it. The damaged side was now set against the wall so no one could see it.

There was a picture of Gabe and me on the bookcase. He had a trowel in one hand and a bone in the other. I was leaning on a spade. He'd been more than a boss. He'd been a friend. I spent three years with him, ferrying him and his colleagues to remote locations around the Orion Arm. I'd known, of course, that civilizations rise and fall, that cities enjoy their time in the sunlight, then, for a variety of reasons, sink into obscurity and, eventually, into the ground. Everybody knows that. But I hadn't understood the implications until Gabriel Benedict had hired me on as transport director—the title was a gag: I was the pilot for the Fleury Archeological Initiative, named for Ann Fleury, who'd put the organization together in an effort to maintain the integrity of historical sites, to see that they were properly managed, and to keep them safe from exploiters.

That, of course, meant people like Alex. And, ultimately, me.

It was the reason Gabe was so disappointed in his nephew. Alex never knew his parents. Both had been historians. His mother died giving birth to him. She was one of three women in the entire world to die that year during delivery. His father died a year later while touring the ruins of Kashnir when he was attacked and bitten by a storm of dragon bees. The infant, left temporarily in the care of Gabriel and his wife, Elaina, stayed with them.

Elaina was long gone by the time I met Gabe. She'd run off with someone. Don't know who. I never heard the details. I can't imagine how she could have done any better than Gabe.

So Alex grew up, as he liked to say, in dig sites. He inherited the family's passion for history. But instead of following in Gabe's footsteps, he'd decided there were plenty of artifacts out there for everybody. There was a serious market for antiquities, especially those that could be linked to an historical personage or event. And Alex saw no reason he shouldn't cash in on it.

Shortly after I began working for Gabe, I heard that he had a nephew. When I asked, innocently, whether Alex had any interest in archeology, Gabe's face had darkened, and he'd shaken his head. “No,” he'd said. “None whatever.”

I didn't ask again. His colleagues filled me in on the details. “Alex robs tombs,” one of them told me. “You might say he's not exactly the son Gabe had hoped for.”

Eventually, they reconciled, although they never became close. I didn't meet Alex during those years. You'll understand I had a fairly low opinion of him and felt sorry for his uncle.

Gabe got interested when an exploration ship, the
Tenandrome,
returned to Rimway, and Survey became secretive about something they'd seen. Gabe went home, got involved in an investigation, and let me know he'd figured it out. He was on the return flight, on the
Capella,
when it vanished. He'd asked me to meet him at Saraglia Station. And I'll never forget sitting in Karlovski's All-Night listening to the reports. The interstellar was late. Two hours later, it
still
hadn't arrived. Then there was an assurance that delays happen, and there was no reason to worry. Search units were being sent out. I was wandering through the concourse, too restless to sit, when they announced that the
Capella
was officially declared missing.

They never found it, of course. It was a bad time. As painful as anything in my life. I hadn't realized how much I liked Gabe, loved him, really. An easygoing guy with a great sense of humor. I used to wonder about his ex-wife, what kind of nitwit she must have been to leave him. He possessed an innocent charm, and I loved spending time with him. Did it whenever I could. It was why I hung around the sites, eating food cooked over campfires and sleeping under the stars. And now and then wielding a shovel. Looking back now, I've come to realize that they were among the best days of my life.

Then, without warning, he was gone.

After I got myself together, after I'd given up on any possibility that the
Capella
would magically show up somewhere, I went back to Rimway, to the country house. Gabe owed me two months' pay and expenses. I had decided to let it go, not to put in my final statement, but when I heard that the nephew had taken over the estate, I had no problem.

That, of course, constituted my introduction to Alex. Pay me. And I'll confess that I didn't like him at first. Maybe it was because of what I knew about him. Maybe, somehow, I resented his being there in place of Gabe. I don't know. We got talking about the
Tenandrome,
and why Survey had been so secretive about its mission, and what its connection was with Gabe.

As the old saying goes, one thing led to another. Before we were finished, he'd saved my life. That can do a lot to cement a relationship with somebody.

Karen called back that afternoon.
“No notebook,”
she said.
“Sorry.”

“You couldn't have misplaced it?”

“No. If I'd seen it, I'd have remembered. It just didn't come with the other stuff.”

Alex spent his time reading everything he could find about Robin. He discovered that the physicist had been a superb athlete in school, that he'd been an only child, that his parents had been wealthy, and that he'd never wanted for anything.

We continued to get a lot of calls from the media, but Alex knew there was such a thing as overexposure, so he limited access. For him, it was all a game. It had little or nothing to do with making money, per se, other than that he enjoyed seeing his clients prosper. But he spoke of his “enhancement technique” as if he were creating a romance, giving value to the culture.

I objected occasionally, especially when we went overboard for Karen Howard. The truth is that I suspected there was more to this than the Robin collectibles. That he'd become intrigued with the mystery surrounding the disappearance. He continued to insist that arriving at a solution would be counterproductive. And I knew he was right. But I didn't think, in the end, it would matter.

During this uncomfortable period, I stopped by the country house during off-hours a couple of times to reassure myself he was okay. One evening, I found him in the conference room watching a clip of Chris Robin giving out awards at a high school on Virginia Island. I didn't think he was even aware I was standing there. But he froze the scene, depicting Robin sharing cookies with a couple of the kids. “What do you think?” he asked, without looking up.

“About what?”

“Uriel,” he said. “What do you suppose he meant when he said he'd be able to talk about a breakthrough after Uriel?”

SIX

The secret of a truly successful career in almost any field is the ability to control what people think. In other words, pure public relations. It is the difference between talent and greatness.

—Henry Taylor,
The Statesman
, 6712
C.E.

While we watched interest build in the Robin artifacts, we got involved in the search for Korman Eddy's
Clockwork,
which had vanished from a train in the middle of the last century. The sculptor, then at the beginning of his illustrious career, had achieved celebrity status but hadn't yet reached the superstardom that awaited him. He famously took the sculpture aboard an Andiquar local and somehow—nobody had ever understood how it could have happened—left it on the seat when he got off at Mill Harbor. “A beautiful young lady had come aboard,” he'd explained, “and I'm easily distracted.”

Clockwork
was an abstract depiction, according to the experts, of the inevitable passage of time, and its effect on the psyche. It was a collection of springs, clock hands, pinions, Roman numerals, wheels, electric dials, and pendulums. It wasn't a large piece, but Eddy had needed two seats to transport it. It had been inside a transparent wrapping. He sat on the opposite side of the aisle.

Eddy apparently realized his oversight after leaving the train. He was in a cab on his way to the Vancouver Center, where it was to be unveiled. Horrified, he immediately called the train. A quick search ensued, but the sculpture could not be found. Passengers reported seeing a woman struggling with it, carrying it toward the back of the car on which Eddy had been riding. That had been several minutes after the train had left the station. Police were waiting at Cuirescu, the next stop. But they could find no sign of the missing artwork or the woman the other passengers had seen. An inspection of the forty-three-mile-long track between the two stations turned up the wrapping but nothing else.