Echo

by Jack McDevitt

  “One moment please, Ms. Kolpath.”

  A cold wind rattled the trees, and a few snowflakes dislodged from the rooftop and the trees and blew around. Branches creaked, though the swings never moved. I wondered if they were frozen in place.

  The door opened, and a redheaded man in a heavy white shirt looked up from behind a desk. He gave me an expansive smile and got to his feet. “Ms. Kolpath,” he said. “I’m Hal Cavallero. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m doing some research,” I said. “I’d like to ask a few questions, if I may. I won’t take much of your time.”

  A fire burned quietly.

  “We don’t often get beautiful strangers in this part of the world. Sure, I’d be happy to help.” He looked older than I’d expected. Sallow cheeks, lots of lines around his eyes. There was something in his expression that suggested he was fighting a headache. Two children, a boy and a girl, were on the floor playing cards.

  I explained that I was a staff assistant at Rainbow Enterprises.

  “Okay,” he said, growing serious. “Who’s Rainbow Enterprises?”

  “We do historical analysis, among other things. We’re currently working on a study of the touring industry as it was at the turn of the century.”

  “I see.” The girl, who’d been watching me, waved. I waved back.

  “I’m sorry to tell you this,” he continued, “but I don’t see how I can possibly be of any help.” He took a moment to introduce the kids, Emma and Billy. “Our newest acquisitions.”

  “They look as if they’re enjoying themselves.”

  “Oh, yes. They always have a good time. Where are you based, Ms. Kolpath?”

  “Call me Chase.”

  “Chase, then.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, trying to decide, I guess, whether we’d both go on a first-name basis. He must have decided against it. “Where are you from?”

  “Andiquar.”

  “You’ve come a long way. I’m surprised you didn’t check with me first. Or just call.”

  “I was in the area. We’re talking to a lot of people.”

  “I see.” He pushed back from the desk. “I’m glad you didn’t come all this way just to see me. I really don’t think I have much to contribute.”

  “This is a lovely operation. The kids here are all orphans?”

  “Not all. Some were abandoned.”

  “Well, when things go wrong, it’s nice that there are people like you to pick up the slack.”

  He looked embarrassed. Shrugged. “I’m doing it for selfish reasons. I enjoy the work.”

  The door opened, and a girl about seven looked in. “Mr. Cavallero, they’re ready,” she said.

  “All right, Sola. Tell Ms. Gates I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She smiled brightly and left. “They’re playing broom hockey and need another referee.”

  “Broom hockey?”

  “It’s very popular here.” He instructed the AI to look after Emma and Billy. Then he said good-bye to the kids and turned my way. “I have to go, Chase. But there’s no reason you can’t watch if you’d like.”

  Two groups of second-grade girls, wielding short brooms, took each other on. Cavallero and one of the teachers refereed the action. The kids, five on a side, giggled and screamed as they charged up and down the floor, trying to put a sponge into one of the small cages at each end of the room. Everybody had a good time, and at the conclusion of the game, they celebrated with ice cream. “What other job,” he asked me, “could give so much pleasure?”

  We went back to the cabin, and he settled in behind his desk. I sat down on a love seat. The children were gone. “Okay, Chase,” he said, “what did you want to know?”

  I explained that I was trying to get a handle on the day-to-day operations of the tour companies. “We’re talking to the administrative staff, the pilots, the people at the launch points. I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions.”

  “I hate to say this, but a history of the touring companies sounds pretty dull.” He looked up at an antique wall clock. The implication was clear enough. He had amiable features, but the edge in his voice clashed with them. He was tall, with eyes the color of frozen seawater. The years had taken their toll on him. He looked tired. Weary.

  A picture of a young man and a teenage girl was mounted on his desk. “Sandra and Tom,” he said. “My kids.”

  And another picture atop one of the bookcases of a much younger Cavallero and an attractive young woman. It was Tyra, his wife.

  “Mr. Cavallero,” I asked, “have you gotten completely away from starflight? Or do you still go out occasionally? Maybe take the kids for a ride?”

  “I keep my license current. But what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just idle curiosity. I’m a pilot myself, and I can’t imagine that I’ll ever really get away from it.” It was the reason I’d made the trip, and Alex had stayed home. You’ll have better rapport with him, he’d insisted.

  “You’re probably right, Chase. But I haven’t been on the bridge or in a cockpit for a long time. Have no inclination to anymore.”

  “But you still maintain your license?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever really let go.” He managed a smile. “You look cold. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Yes, please. That would be nice.”

  He went into the kitchen, returned with two cups, and set them on the table. “Careful,” he said. “It’s hot.”

  “Thanks.” He looked, somehow, afraid. “When you were piloting, Mr. Cavallero—”

  “Call me Hal—”

  Okay. First name at last. “When you were piloting, Hal, you had the kind of job most of us dream about.”

  “What? Delivering construction materials to someplace where they are trying to build a settlement? And making the same run time after time, for years? I don’t think so, Chase.”

  “I meant when you were with World’s End. When you ran the scouting missions.”

  “Oh,” he said. “That.”

  “You don’t sound—”

  “It was okay. I can’t complain about it. They treated me well.”

  “You were going into areas where no one had ever been before.”

  “That’s true.”

  “That’s why most of us become pilots. To do something like that. But those jobs barely exist.”

  “I guess.”

  “You don’t sound as if you cared very much.”

  “Sure I did.”

  “But you quit.”

  “I got tired of it. I got married while I was working for World’s End. They didn’t pay all that well, so I left.”

  “You were born here, right? In Carnaiva?”

  “Yes. This is where my family is. My kids and grandkids are all here. Well, almost all. Tom’s gone. He works for the governor.”

  He described life at World’s End. How you had to be a member of the Korminov family to move up in the organization. “Walter was okay, but his wife was tough to live with. And Abe.”

  “His son?”

  “Yeah. He did supply and maintenance. I don’t think he liked the work very much. And he had a high opinion of himself.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. He and his father had a falling-out, and he left for parts unknown. I don’t think Walter’s heard from him in years.”

  “What about the wife?”

  “Ran off with a preacher.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Cavallero cheered up. This was the part of the story he liked. “Nope. They went out to the islands somewhere.”

  The coffee was good. He tossed another log into the fire and explained with a smile that his wife was helping out down at the church while he refereed the hockey games.

  “All right,” I said. “Let me ask a couple more questions, then I’ll get out of your way, Hal.”

  “I’m at your service.”

  “The scouting missions, as I understand it, determined where the tours
went. Right?”

  “Yes. Just to be clear, we went back to the same places regularly. But we had a company policy of changing the destinations after a given number of visits. Walter thought clients were more likely to come back if we did something different periodically. And sometimes we needed to customize a trip. Somebody wanted to go see a neutron star. Or a world with crooked rings. Or dinosaurs. That sort of thing. If they were willing to pay, we were prepared to make them happy.”

  “How about telling me what a good scouting mission would look like? What would make a good place for a tour?”

  “Spectacle. That was what we liked. Big colorful rings. There’s nothing like a big set of rings to knock people on their rear ends. One of the tricks we used was to approach ringed worlds on a ninety-degree angle. So that the rings were vertical instead of horizontal. I’ll tell you, it just took their breath away.”

  “Good,” I said. “That’s the kind of thing our readers will be interested in.”

  “Aren’t you going to write it down?”

  Alex had told me not to take notes during an interview unless I wanted to achieve a special effect of some kind. You take notes, he told me, people are inclined to shut up. Ask any cop. “No,” I said. “Stuff like the rings, I can remember. Easily. So what else did you look for?”

  “Comets,” he said. “Comets are good.”

  “Big ones?”

  “The bigger the better. Also, the clients liked double planets, and getting in close to cool stars, so that the star fills the entire sky. We’d transit the thing upside down. That created the illusion that it was overhead. That the entire sky was on fire. They loved that. And black holes. Black holes were always good. There’s one at Werewolf.”

  “Where?”

  “Werewolf.” He grinned. “You won’t find it in the catalog.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “We had our own names for everything.”

  “Do you know where it is? Could you find it now?”

  “As I say, Chase, it’s been a long time. I don’t—” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “No. I’ve no idea. I’d have to go back to the records.”

  “The records don’t exist anymore.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s right. They delete them after, what, ten years or so? That’s dumb, because some of that stuff they could still use.”

  “So why do you think they deleted them?”

  “Because the people running the company are morons. They think sites can be exhausted. Like fuel.” He checked the time. “Listen, Chase, I’d love to continue this, but my daughter will be home soon, and we have some work to do.”

  “One more minute?”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell me about Bannister.”

  “Who?”

  “Rachel Bannister. You must have known her. She was a pilot for World’s End at the same time you were.”

  “Oh, yes. Rachel.” The color was draining from his cheeks. “Wow. That’s a long time ago.”

  I waited.

  “I don’t know. She was a competent pilot. Looked pretty good. That’s mostly all I can remember. As best I can tell, she got the job done okay.”

  “She quit about the same time you did.”

  “Did she? I don’t remember.” He shrugged. Got up. “Have to go.”

  “Was anything going on at the time? Any reason the two of you would have left?”

  “No. Not that I know of.”

  “The flights she made, they’d have been to places you scouted, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Probably. Chase, do you mind if I ask what this is about?”

  “I’m just trying to get it clear in my head how the system worked.”

  “But how does that have anything to do with Rachel Bannister?”

  “Probably nothing, Hal. Was anyone else running scouting missions at that time?”

  “Lord, Chase, I really don’t remember. I don’t think so.” He sat back in his chair. “You know, this is beginning to sound like a grilling. Is something going on here that I should know about?”

  “Well, okay. Let me level with you.”

  “Please do.” He swallowed.

  “We’re trying to track down the origin of what might be an artifact. A tablet with a strange inscription.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know anything about it.”

  “All right. One last question, Hal. Do you know where Rachel Bannister went on her last flight?”

  He looked at me and somehow couldn’t break away. There was fear in his eyes. “Hell, I have no idea.” His voice shook. “I barely remember her, Chase. Let alone a last flight.”

  “He’s hiding something,” I told Alex when I got home.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know. But he knew Rachel better than he was willing to admit.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.” We were riding home from the train station. “While you were gone,” he continued, “I was able to track down some of the families who went on the tours. During Rachel’s time.”

  “And—?”

  “Hugo Brockmaier was a corporate lawyer. In 1399, he and his wife Mira went out with World’s End to celebrate their sixtieth anniversary. Rachel Bannister wasn’t the captain. But they took time on the flight to record the highlights. It provides an interesting picture of what they actually did on some of these flights.”

  “And you’ve got the record?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. Just at the description they sent with it. I think we should watch it tomorrow.”

  At home that evening, I received a call from Yolanda Till. Yolanda had been a close friend since we were little kids growing up in Neuberg. We’d been in the Explorers together, had both been on the swim team, had shared boyfriends, and roomed together in college. We’d kept in touch. Yolanda had become an engineer and eventually gone to work for New Dallas Historical, which specialized in archeological excavations. She was currently involved in a recovery project on Mars in the home system. “But that’s not why I called you,” she said.

  “Where are you now?” I asked.

  “On approach to Skydeck. Just passing through. Won’t get time to stop. I’m here to check some details on a cargo flight. Going back out with them in a few hours.” She pushed her dark hair back. “You look good, Chase.”

  I loved Yolanda. I couldn’t imagine those early years without her. “I suspect,” I said, “we could still clear the tables at Wally’s.” The bar we used to hit when we were seniors.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “We need to do a rerun before you get married, sweetheart.”

  “What makes you think I’m getting married?”

  “You’ve got that look. Is it going to be Robin?”

  We did some more girl talk before she came to the point. “Chase, New Dallas is going to be hiring two pilots this month. When I heard about it, I immediately thought of you.” She flashed that big smile that had never changed. “They pay pretty well.”

  I pretended to think it over. Didn’t want to reject the idea out of hand. “I don’t think so, Yolanda,” I said finally. “I have a good situation here.”

  “Okay, Chase. You know, you’d have some upward mobility, which you probably don’t have with Alex. And, with a little luck, we might be able to manage some time together.”

  “That part of it would be nice. But I’m really not ready to make a change.”

  She hesitated. The smile faded, and was replaced by concern, the way she used to look when she disapproved of a guy I was going out with. “All right. I’d thought—”

  “What, Yolanda?”

  “That you’d be anxious to get away.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Never mind, Chase. Let it go.”

  “Seriously: What were you about to say?”

  “Well, life with Alex must be stressful. You never say anything, but I can see it some
times in your eyes.”

  “Yolanda, I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

  “Okay. Look, I know you and he have made major contributions. And I wouldn’t take anything away from that—”

  “But—?”

  “But, you know what Alex’s reputation is in the academic world. He’s a looter, Chase. You know that as well as I do. I just thought maybe you’d want to get clear. It doesn’t help your reputation either, you know what I mean?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m fine. I like working for him.”

  “Okay. No offense. Anyhow, I expect to be back during the summer. Maybe we can get together then?”

  PART II

  Parties in Flight

  FOURTEEN

  The human race will never make peace with itself. The reason for that is not ongoing tribal instincts, as some would have it, but the sheer joy of wreaking destruction. The pleasure one gets from building, say, a town hall, does not approach the exhilaration to be had from blowing it apart. I don’t know why that is, nor can I advance an evolutionary rationale. It is something we do not talk about. But I will confess that my one great regret in life is that I have gone through so many years and never had an opportunity to drop a bomb on something.

  —Timothy Zhin-Po, Night Thoughts

  THE BROCKMAIER FAMILY GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY RECORD, 1399

  Alex and I watched them toast the golden couple, watched the Brockmaiers and their friends and relatives dance the night away in a trendy dining hall, while a band played and toasts were offered. The happy couple wandered the floor, shaking hands, embracing friends and relatives, posing for pictures. They were surrounded by children and grandchildren. The holo included an attachment that would have allowed us to identify everybody had we been of a mind to do so.

  Hugo Brockmaier was a corporate lawyer, and obviously a guy who ate too much. He sported a well-maintained beard, wore a smile that might have been pasted on, and spoke with precision and point, as if every word were significant. Wisdom for the ages.

  His wife Mira was, other than the children, possibly the most diminutive person in the room. But I’d have bet she was one of those people who worked out every day. She wore a flowing white gown that contrasted with her dark skin. She had smooth black hair, so bright it might have been polished, and dark eyes that constantly looked out at me as if she were aware of my presence.