“Brian, is it okay with you if I record this conversation? That way I can pass it on verbatim to Alex.”
“Sure. I don’t care. Record whatever you like.”
“Okay. We are now on record.”
“Fine.”
“Our offer still stands, Brian.”
“I don’t really want your money. That isn’t what this is about.”
“Okay.” Long pause, while we stared at each other. “What is it about?”
“Rachel.”
“I’m listening.”
“Look, let me tell you up front that I have no idea what’s going on here. Why she is the way she is. But she’s a good woman—”
“Okay.”
“Anyhow, I wanted you to know that you and Benedict have turned her into a nervous wreck. I’m scared something will happen.”
“Why is she nervous, Brian?”
“I just told you, I don’t know. I have no idea what any of this is about. What I do know is that she means a lot to me. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. And you two are ruining her. I don’t know what you’re after, and I don’t know what the problem is, but I wanted to ask you to stop. Please.”
“Brian, the tablet might be an artifact from an alien civilization.”
“I’m sure you know how crazy that sounds, Chase. Anyhow, I don’t really care. I just don’t. Nothing is worth what you’re putting her through.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure Alex isn’t happy about any of this either.”
“Yeah. That’s fine. You and he are sorry you’re turning her life upside down.”
“Have you asked her why she’s so upset?”
“Once.”
“What did she say?”
He closed the door. “She just shakes her head. No. Won’t talk about it. Can’t talk about it.”
“Does Doug know what it’s about?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you curious, Brian?”
“Yeah, I’m curious. Of course I am. But she doesn’t want to tell me. That’s good enough.”
“Okay.”
“Look.” He was having a problem with his voice. He started to say more, stopped, took a deep breath. Then: “I wish I could buy you guys off.” Another pause. “I’m not in a position to do that. But I would consider it a personal favor if you and your boss would just back away. Please.”
“Okay.”
“Does that mean you will?”
I hadn’t been able to get Rachel out of my mind. She’d lied to us, and played mind games with us, and maybe had hired someone to get rid of us. Still, her plea that we leave her alone had contained a note of desperation. If that, too, had been an act, she should have been on the stage. I wanted to tell Bryan yes, that we’d back off. That it was over. But I couldn’t speak for Alex. “It means,” I said, “that I’ll show him the record and have him get in touch with you. He’ll be in later this afternoon.”
I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. I had no idea what Rachel was hiding, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I couldn’t bring myself to believe she was actually behind the attempt to kill us although no one else I could think of was likely to want us dead. I was becoming more convinced that the entire business was going to end badly for everyone involved. And I decided to make an effort to persuade Alex to drop the investigation.
When he got back, I ran the conversation for him. He listened, took a deep breath, and told me he’d talk to him. He asked if we had any hot chocolate brewing, got one, and took it upstairs. After a while he came back down. “I called him,” he said.
“What did you tell him?”
“That we were investigating an artifact and not Ms. Bannister. That it was potentially of historic significance, so we couldn’t simply walk away from it. I told him that we were willing to listen to what she had to say, and if she could give us a good reason to stop, we would.”
“What did he say?”
“He wasn’t happy.”
“Alex—”
“Yes?”
“I’m not either.”
“I know. This is hard on everybody.” He sat down. “I’m sorry. I wish we’d never seen the tablet.”
SIXTEEN
Eagles commonly fly alone: they are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together.
—John Webster, The Duchess of Malfi
Next morning, Alex was waiting for me when I arrived at the country house. “We may be getting close to Conover, Chase.”
Tuttle’s compatriot. The guy who inherited the logs and, later, dropped out of sight. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. But I think we may have located someone who can tell us where he is.”
“Who’s that?”
“Pinky Albertson. Back in the good times, she was his bartender.”
“His bartender?”
“What can I tell you? A lot of people have mentioned her. Some say if he was going to keep in touch with anyone, it would have been Pinky.”
“Ummm. Was he a lush?”
“No. Apparently, they were just very good friends.”
“So where is she?”
“That’s the problem.”
“You don’t know.”
“No. It’s just that it’s a long way. We’ll need the Belle-Marie.”
“Where are we going?”
“Starburst.”
“We’re never going to be able to manage this, are we?” Robin asked, when I told him I was headed out again.
“I don’t know. I guess I could get a job as a bookkeeper.”
“I make more than enough for the two of us.”
It’s an enlightened age, fortunately. Teachers are well paid. But—“I can’t see myself just hanging around the house, Robin.”
“You’d make a pretty good teacher.”
“Don’t have the patience. If you want me, you’re going to have to take me as I am.”
“You mean missing for weeks at a time—”
In the morning, minutes after I’d arrived in my office, Audree called. “It’s okay,” she said, when I told her I’d connect her with Alex. “I don’t want to bother him. I know how busy he is right now.”
“Sure. What can I do for you, Audree?”
“You guys haven’t gotten any more odd packages, have you?”
“No. We haven’t found out what that was about.”
“Fenn still doesn’t have anything, I guess?”
“If he does, he’s keeping it quiet.”
She looked subdued. Worried. “You think it has anything to do with the tablet?”
“What’s Alex telling you?”
“He doesn’t want to talk about it. Says it’s still an open matter.”
“That’s pretty much what I’ve heard, too.”
“What do you think, Chase?”
“I don’t know. We tend to make a few enemies in this business. Sometimes, just putting a buyer and a seller together can irritate somebody you didn’t even know was in the mix.”
“But this was more than somebody’s being annoyed.”
“Well, maybe. For what it’s worth, Audree, I only know a few lunatics, and all of them have a passion for artifacts.”
She laughed. “Are you guys actually going to find out what this is all about? The tablet, I mean.”
“There’s a decent chance.”
She was in her office at the Geologic Service. “Chase,” she said, “are you by any chance free for lunch? My treat?”
“By all means.”
“Girls’ day out.”
“Sure,” I said. I smothered an impulse to suggest we invite Alex.
We met at Cooley’s on the waterfront. I got there first, but had just sat down when Audree strolled in. She saw me, waved, and swept past the host’s station. We resumed our conversation where we’d left off, which made it a discussion about the tablet. “I honestly wouldn’t care one way or the other,” she said. “I mean, we’re talking about little green men, for God’s sak
e. What does it matter? But it means so much to Alex.”
I ordered chicken and rice; I don’t recall what Audree had, mostly because she seemed distracted by more than little green men, and that had the effect of distracting me. But I let it go, knowing that she’d get to whatever was bothering her in her own good time.
Cooley’s had been her suggestion. The food was okay, the ambience relaxing, and we could watch sailboats tacking past. But I think the critical element for her was the music. They had a pianist, and the guy was superb. “I wish I could play like that,” she said.
I’d heard her play. “You’re not bad, Audree,” I said. “If you had the time, I think you’d be at his level. You’re close enough now that I’m not sure I could tell you apart.”
“Chase, you’re very kind.” Her eyes glittered. And I watched her making up her mind. “Got a question for you.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“I think I might be falling for Alex.”
I looked at her. Smiled. Took her wrist. “You could do worse,” I said.
“Would it create a problem?”
“You mean for me? You mean are he and I emotionally involved?”
“Yes. I mean, I know Alex says there’s nobody else, and I think—”
“Audree, I love Alex. But I don’t mean romantic love. Sure, I’m emotionally attached. And I wouldn’t want you to grab him and take him off someplace where I’d never see him again. But other than that, I’d be delighted if you became a permanent part of his life.” I stopped, weighed my next words, and decided what the hell. “Of our lives.”
She seemed relieved. “I was wondering because—”
I knew why. The long rides, just the two of us, Alex and me, in the Belle-Marie. And the shared missions, generally. The media treated us as if we were a couple. Nobody ever said that flat out. But the implication was always there. My folks had even pressed me about it, several months earlier, trying indirectly to find out when Alex and I would be getting married. When I told them it wasn’t going to happen, they behaved as if I was being coy. “How’s he feel about it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. He’s noncommittal. He may be cautious around women generally, or it may just be me.”
“I think that’s his disposition. I know he likes you quite a lot. Does he know how you feel?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I don’t see how he could have missed it. But you know how guys are.” We finished the main course, and the dessert arrived, strawberry shortcake for me, chocolate pudding for her. When the server was gone, she continued: “He’s one of a kind, Chase.”
“I’d agree with that. And I wish you luck with him.”
“Thanks.”
I couldn’t resist: “If I’d staked a claim to him, you wouldn’t really have backed off, would you?”
That got a huge grin. “Chase, I’m glad we can still be friends.”
Four days later, we docked at Starburst Station at Grand Salinas and confirmed Pinky Albertson’s presence. She was the proprietor of the O.K. Bar and Grill. When we arrived, the host informed us she wouldn’t be in for several hours, so we checked into the Pretty Good Hotel. The tradition at Starburst could best be described as one of understatement. They had Carbury’s Restaurant, where the food was “reasonable,” and Jack’s Game Show, which featured VR performances that were “interesting.” My favorite was Kristin’s Beauty Shop, where you could be made to look “not bad.”
As on most space stations, time tended to be flexible. It might be almost midnight for people arriving from groundside or high noon for those coming in on the transports. You could always get breakfast, and the middle of the night was inevitably subjective.
For us it was early morning. After we got checked in, we went down for bacon and eggs. Then we wandered through the station, which is one of the biggest in the Confederacy.
It had a concert hall, where a group called Starfire would be performing that evening. The place where we’d eaten had a comedian scheduled. And we saw a group of schoolchildren composed of both humans and Mutes. They were accompanied by two female adults, one from each species. “You know,” said Alex, “making the adjustment was such a struggle, I’m not sure it would be a good thing to find another race of aliens.” It was the first time I’d ever seen kids from the two species together.
When it was time, we went back to the O.K. Bar and Grill. The place had an ancient Western motif, cowboy hats hung on the walls, old six-guns and holsters on display, a few wanted posters for Jesse James and Billy the Kid, and an announcement for the annual Claremont Roundup.
It was odd that we didn’t know the names of most of the major world leaders during the nineteenth century but we knew a few cowboys. “You think they really existed?” I asked Alex.
“Probably not,” he said.
We ordered a couple of drinks and asked if Pinky Albertson was available. The host asked our names, spoke into his sleeve, listened, and nodded. Then he led us out of the dining area and pointed to a staircase. “Second level,” he said. “Turn left, second door.”
The name didn’t match. Pinky was a tall dark woman with lustrous features, black hair, and a husky voice. She was sitting on a long sofa talking with a middle-aged couple who were just getting up to leave. After they were gone, Pinky invited us in.
“Alex and Chase,” she said. “Which of you is Alex?”
Alex responded, and she invited us to sit. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re trying to find Hugh Conover,” said Alex.
“Does he know you?”
“We’ve never met.”
“May I ask what this is about? Hugh doesn’t normally get visitors.”
“We’re doing some research. We’d like to ask a few questions about Sunset Tuttle.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Ah,” she said, “good old Sunset.” She studied each of us in turn. “I’m not sure Hugh would be receptive to an interview.”
“We won’t be a problem for him,” said Alex. “I don’t suppose he’s on the station?”
“On the station? No, certainly not.” The music from downstairs drifted up. There was a burst of laughter. “He’s on Banshee,” she said.
“Where’s that?”
“It’s in the Korvall system. About eight light-years.”
“Can you tell us where on Banshee?” I asked.
She looked my way, apparently surprised I had spoken. “He doesn’t exactly have an address, Chase.”
“Why’s that?”
“He and Lyra—she’s his wife—they are the only people on the planet. Or at least they were last time I looked.”
“Okay.”
“They’re in the southern hemisphere, I can tell you that much.”
“Thank you, Pinky,” said Alex. “Is there any way to reach him?”
“Sure.”
“Can we send him a message now?”
“If you like. There’ll be a moderate charge, of course. And a bit of a delay. But certainly, you can contact him if you like. Text or audible?”
“Audible.”
“Okay. Wait one.” She raised a hand, index finger pointed at the overhead. “You’re on.”
Alex explained who we were, using the standard story that we were working on a history of Survey’s early years. And we hoped to talk with him about Tuttle. He kept it short and concluded by assuring Conover we would not take more than a few minutes of his time.
“That everything?” Pinky asked.
“Yes.”
“You want to review it?”
“No. I think it’s okay.”
She told her AI to send the message. “We won’t get a response for at least”—she checked the time—“at least a couple of hours.”
“Am I correct,” asked Alex, “that Mr. Conover comes here occasionally? To the station?”
“The Conovers have a few friends in the area. Drinking buddies. They come in periodically, and they all get together.” She warmed a bit. “They know how to have a
good time, I’ll give them that.”
It took more like five hours. We were back in the O.K. Bar and Grill, finishing another meal, when an answer came in. It was from Conover’s AI. “I am sorry. Hugh and Lyra are out camping. Unfortunately, they can’t be reached. I do not anticipate they’ll be available for at least two days.”
Pinky joined us a few minutes later. “How’d you make out?”
Alex let her hear the message.
“I guess best is to wait for him to get to you,” she said.
“Have you been to Banshee?”
“Once.”
“Can you tell us anything else about where he lives?”
“He’s got a couple of survival pods tied together. But I don’t guess that helps much.”
“Not a great deal.”
“Okay.” She tried to think. “He lives on a lakefront.”
“All right.”
“And he’s on a continent in the southern hemisphere.”
“Anything more?”
“That’s it. It’s all I have.”
“Do you know if there are any other habitations, houses, buildings, whatever, on Banshee?”
“I don’t think so, Alex. We’re talking about a world, and I’ve only seen a small part of it. But I can tell you there isn’t anything close to his place.”
SEVENTEEN
If you would grasp the reason for your existence, and reach the limits of what may be known, you must live on the edge. Get away from the crowds that distract and deflect. It is why we love mountaintops and deserted beaches.
—Tulisofala, Mountain Passes (Translated by Leisha Tanner)
Banshee was moderately larger than Rimway, but it was less dense, and consequently its gravity gradient was down a couple of points. It lacked the massive oceans that were characteristic of living worlds. There were seas, but they weren’t connected into a single globe-circling entity. Polar caps were large, extending across as much as thirty percent of the planet.
Hugh Conover had what he’d always wanted: a world to himself. He’d made no secret of his wishes: Get away from the maddening crush of idiots. You couldn’t escape them, he’d argued. They showed up on the talk shows, infested the web, wrote books, and won political office. They appealed to their fellow idiots, and the result was, not chaos, but life on a treadmill. Keep moving but get nowhere. Those kinds of comments—Conover had made no effort to conceal his opinions of the mass of humanity—had won him few friends.
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