“Sounds perfect. You deserve one.”
“I think it’s Chase who deserves one. But how about you? What are you up to these days?”
“Not much. Retirement does that to you.” He turned to me. “Chase, will you really be taking some time off, too?”
“No,” I said. “Somebody has to hold the fort.”
“Of course. I understand how that is.” He smiled at Alex. “I wish, during my working years, I’d had an associate like her.”
We did some more small talk, then he said good-bye. “If I can ever be of help, Alex, don’t hesitate to let me know.” We watched him lift off in his skimmer and head out over the river.
Alex sat quietly for a few moments. “Chase,” he said finally, “did you notice anything odd?”
“No,” I said, “nothing I can think of. Why?”
“The question about whether we’d given up on the Golden Age artifacts.”
“Alex, he never asked anything like that.”
“Precisely. Doesn’t that strike you as curious?”
* * *
Responses about Madeleine O’Rourke came in from Lucianna and Les. Neither was aware of anyone with that name. But both knew Heli Tokata. “Tall young woman,” said Lucianna. “Green eyes, odd accent. She’s from Cormoral. A history buff. And a pilot. Came to Earth for her education, got her Ph.D. from Hemmings University in Kobula and never went home. The interesting thing is that she hooked up with Baylee for a couple of years. She might still live in Kobula.”
“She was just someone I knew to say hello to,” said Les. “She lives in the British Isles, or did last time I’d heard. Place called Sudenton. She was a member of Garnett’s crowd. I think she went out on a few expeditions with him.”
* * *
Alex was at lunch when another of our clients, Jorge Brenner, called. “I have a novel, Flex, by Cal Eliot. He was a twenty-first-century science-fiction writer, and it’s about a couple of guys who chase a shape-changing monster through the solar system. It attacks research stations, colonies, and orbital bases. I don’t know why it survived. The book, I mean. It’s not very good, but it’s kind of a ride through the planetary system. Earth’s planetary system. I don’t know if it could be any help to you. But these guys go everywhere. It has pretty good descriptions of the gas giants and Mercury and Mars, and at one point they land on the Venusian surface. It’s a bound book. But I can ship it over if you like.”
I couldn’t imagine it would provide what we were looking for. But what was the harm? “Sure, Jorge,” I said. “Send it when you can. We’ll take a look and get it right back to you.”
Meantime, more books arrived, and we discovered still more asteroids. Spock, Hrazany, Nanking, and Arabia. The latter two were obviously named for places. And Transylvania for, I guess, the famous physician. Nobody’s sure whether there actually was a place with that name. The significance of the first two names is unknown.
Other asteroids were named Anderson, McCool, Saga, Shoemaker, Arago, Einstein, and more than a hundred others. But there was still no sign of Larissa. Until Flex arrived.
The book had been published eleven years ago by Babcock, which specializes in reproducing books from other eras. It was a translation, of course. The cover showed two astronauts in clunky Third-Millennium gear confronting a bulbous monster while in the background an asteroid seemed to be bearing down on a vulnerable Earth. A note on the credits page claimed that the publishing house routinely did everything it could to re-create the original packaging. And that Flex was no exception. The present cover was the same as the one that had originally been used.
I turned it over to Jacob, who produced an electronic version, and a search for Larissa gave us a positive result. In one sequence, Mark Andrews and his partner Delia Tabor are barely able to intercept an asteroid that has been flung in the direction of the home world by the invading monster of the title. The asteroid is Larissa. And the name appears only once.
“That’s it on the cover,” I said.
“Beautiful, Chase.”
“The credits say it’s not the original artwork, Alex, but that it’s a copy.”
“The original might not have resembled the asteroid anyhow. I doubt they’d have bothered going to the trouble to get an actual reproduction.”
“But—?”
“There’s a chance. At least we have something to work with.”
* * *
I had lunch with Shara the following day, and I told her about the Flex monster. “Well,” she said, “I don’t know whether information about Larissa exists anywhere. But I can tell you the best place to look.”
“Where’s that, Shara?”
“The New Honolulu University. I should have thought of them before. They have a science history archive that would probably have it if anybody does.”
I passed her comment to Alex and told him I’d get a message out to them.
“Don’t bother.” He went over and looked out the window. It was a beautiful morning, birds singing, a plane in the distance, tree limbs moving lightly in the breeze. “We can check when we get there.”
“We’re really going back?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t you think we should let them respond first? They might not be able to offer any help either.”
“If they can’t, we have another option.”
“What’s that?”
“We could try asking Baylee’s pilot where Larissa is.”
“Baylee’s pilot? Who’s that? Tokata?”
“Very good. Yes, I think that’s very likely. Chase, you haven’t been in touch with Khaled recently, have you?”
“I had a message from him last week.”
“Okay. We don’t want him to know we’re going.”
“I may already have given something away. I told him there was a possibility.”
“All right. Don’t say any more.”
“I won’t. But you want to tell me why?”
“I don’t trust him.”
Well, I knew he was wrong about that. I let it go, though. “Whatever you say. When do we leave?”
“There’s no rush. Can you manage tomorrow?”
FORTY-THREE
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “A Psalm of Life,” 1839 C.E.
We arrived at Galileo Station, worked our way through customs, and rode the shuttle down to New Honolulu. It was early morning when we checked into a suite at the Majestic, which looked out over a crowded beach and an ocean filled with swimmers. We changed clothes, and I headed for the door, assuming we would be leaving immediately for the university.
But Alex sat down. “We have a call to make first,” he said. He asked the directory if it had a listing for Heli Tokata. “She lives in Sudenton. In the British Isles.”
“Yes, sir,” it replied. “We have it.”
“May I have her code?”
“Of course. It’s Hobart 2796-331-49.”
“Now,” Alex said, “I have to do a little artwork.” He used his link to project his image, seating it in one of the armchairs. Then he manipulated it, changed it to a young woman. Blond hair, attractive. Brown-and-gray business suit. “Maybe a little more intensity in the eyes.” He made the adjustment. “What do you think, Chase?”
“She looks good.” I assumed he wanted to mislead Tokata. “You want me to provide the voice?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got it.” He fiddled with the link again and whispered “Hello, how are you?” into it. The image repeated the greeting. He tried it again, manipulated the sound until it had acquired a soft, vaguely seductive feminine tone with a British accent. “How’s that?”
“Not sure,” I sa
id. “What’s she going to do?”
He locked her into the memory so she would be the voice and image that appeared to the person at the other end of the call. I found myself thinking of Zachary Conner. “Chase,” he said, “why don’t you sit over there so you don’t get caught in the exchange? You don’t want to be seen.”
That was fine by me. Alex was much better at this kind of thing than I was. So I moved well off to the side.
“Good,” he said. “Now, what’s Eisa’s code?”
“Khaled? You mean Tokata’s code, right?”
“No. We need to settle something first.”
I began to squirm. “Do we really have to do this, Alex?”
“Yes, we do.” I gave him Khaled’s code, his personal one, not the code that would connect him with Eisa Friendly Charters. “You just watch, all right? Don’t say anything.”
“You can count on that.”
He passed the code to the link and directed it to make the call while I did some quick math. It would be midafternoon along the Florida coast. I heard a pickup at the other end. My throat tightened. And Khaled appeared in the center of the room. He was looking at Alex but seeing only the young woman. “Mr. Eisa,” Alex said. “My name’s Marie Baxter.”
Khaled’s features softened. “Hello, Ms. Baxter. What can I do for you?”
“I’m trying to locate an old friend. Heli Tocata. We went to school together. I’ve lost track of her. The address I have doesn’t seem to work anymore. She mentioned you to me a few weeks ago. Told me you’re a friend, right? The boat owner?”
“Yes. That would be me.”
“Good. Anyway, I’m trying to find her.”
My heart picked up a notch.
“Sure,” he said. “I know Heli. But she doesn’t live around here anywhere.”
“I didn’t think she did. Last I recall, she was headed for the British Isles. Do you by any chance have contact information for her?”
“Hold on, Ms. Baxter. I’m getting it for you now.”
Alex glanced over at me with a look of regret. He had to be careful because any change in his expression would be reflected in Marie’s. But he understood that I was annoyed. I wanted to break into the conversation and tell Khaled what he could do.
And, finally, Khaled was back: “Yes. She does live in the British Isles. Or at least she did last time I talked to her. In a place called Sudenton.” He provided the code and delivered a smile. “You want me to repeat it, Marie?”
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks, Mr. Eisa. I’m in your debt.” And Alex disconnected. A long silence followed. “I’m sorry, Chase,” he said finally.
“The whole thing was a lie. All that talk about how he needed to be with me.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe not that part of it. But the attack was a lie. My guess is that Eisa planted an explosive on the boat, detonated it at the correct moment, then pretended to drive off the attacker.”
“Tocata was the attacker?”
“I don’t think there’s any question. We know she was lying about who and what she was. And she’s a friend of Eisa’s.”
“Oh, Chase,” Khaled had said, “you were never really in danger.”
My chest was heaving. “None of this makes sense, Alex.”
“Tocata doesn’t want us to find out what happened with Baylee. So she tried to scare us off. But what’s she hiding? And I can’t believe she’s alone in this.”
“Why not?”
“Because they destroyed one of Khaled’s boats. As far as I’ve been able to determine, Tocata doesn’t come from money.” He looked out at the sky. “I was sorry to put you through that, Chase. But I had to confirm my suspicions.”
“It’s all right.”
“I suspect you’d like to call him and tell him what you think, but—”
“No. Actually, I have no intention to call him. Ever.”
“Okay.”
“So what’s next? Do we call Tocata?”
“No. We relax and go down to the beach for a while. This afternoon, I’m going to head over to NHU. See if they can ID Larissa.”
“Why not just call them?”
“I’m interested in seeing the place. Anyhow, asking questions in person usually produces better results. You want to come?”
“Sure.”
* * *
The campus occupied about five acres on the outskirts of the city. Six or seven buildings, their entrances marked by geometric art, were joined by sloping rooftops and walkways. At the northernmost extremity, a pair of towers gleamed in bright sunlight. The science history section, officially known as the Casper Archive, was located in a three-story structure between the towers.
We climbed a half dozen steps and went through the front door into a circular, vaulted room whose walls were covered with scientifically related artwork, portraits of famous scientists, photos of off-world landscapes, and sketches of classical formulas. Kormanov’s Origin of Life Theory was on display, as was M Theory, Carmichael’s Particle Theory, Goldman’s Dark Energy Formula, the Schroedinger Equations, and the Pythagorean Theorem. The Brickman Analysis, the breakthrough study of how the human brain works, occupied a prominent position over a sofa.
A few people were admiring the art, and a young man was seated at a desk in the center of the room. A name tent identified him as Rafael Iturbi. He looked up from a monitor as we approached. “Yes,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Iturbi,” said Alex, “there’s an asteroid that, back in ancient times, in the Third Millennium, was called Larissa. Can you pin it down for me? Match it to a catalog number?”
“How do you spell that, Mr.—-?”
“Benedict. Alex Benedict” He printed the asteroid’s name on a sheet of paper.
Iturbi glanced at it. “Okay. Hold on, Mr. Benedict.” He straightened his shoulders and stated the name for his computer. He crossed his arms, glanced up at me, smiled, and refocused on the screen. The smile faded. “We don’t show it, sir.”
“Do you have any files that are not included with the electronic data?”
He had to give that some thought. “Hold on a second, please.” He got up from the desk, crossed the room, and walked out through a door.
“That’s not a good sign,” I said.
He gave me his eternal optimism smile. We waited. More people came and went. Then a bearded older man appeared at the same door and came toward us. “Hello?” he said. “Mr. Benjamin?”
“Benedict,” said Alex.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Benedict. I’m Morton Williams. You say the asteroid’s name is Larissa?”
“Yes, Mr. Williams.”
“Okay. I’m sorry, but we don’t have the information. We can identify some asteroids, but unfortunately, that’s not a name we’re familiar with. How do you know it existed at all?”
“We have good reason to know that there was an asteroid with that name. In fact, I have a picture of it. Do you think you could match it?”
“Can you show it to me?”
Alex produced the cover from Flex. We’d removed the monster and the two astronauts. But Williams was frowning anyway. “This is a drawing,” he said.
“It’s the best we could come up with.”
He studied the image for a minute or two. “May I ask why you’re interested?”
“Just doing some research.”
It seemed to satisfy him. “We have a substantial number of pictures of major asteroids, other than those whose ancient names we have on record. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
He sat down at Iturbi’s desk, concentrating on the display, which we could not see. He grunted periodically, sucked his lower lip, and eventually shook his head. “We’re not getting a match. The reality is that nobody has cared about asteroids for a long time. Back in the early years, they mined
them, but we don’t have much left from those years. A few people live on them now, and they’ve given them names. Not official, of course. But is it possible you’re looking for one of those?”
“No,” said Alex. “This would be from the Third or Fourth Millennium.”
Williams shrugged. “Sorry. Wish we could help.”
* * *
We hadn’t expected much, I guess, but it was nevertheless disappointing. “We still have options,” Alex said. We went in through the lobby and took the elevator up to our suite. Once in our apartment, Alex began tinkering with his link again.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He looked off to my left. I turned and saw another image of Alex smiling at me. He added some muscle and maybe a couple of inches. He lightened the hair and rearranged the features, turned himself into a stranger, then the guy began to look familiar again.
Southwick.
He was behind all this? “How are you going to manage the voice?”
“I brought along one of the HV interviews.”
He plugged the voice and the image into the memory and called Heli.
We got a recording: “Heli is not available and is not currently able to return your call. Please leave your name and code.”
Alex, speaking in Southwick’s voice, explained that he was on a business trip and couldn’t be reached, but that he would try again later.
* * *
We’d timed our arrival perfectly. The locals were celebrating the Mililandi Fest, which, according to the hotel guide, dated back over three thousand years. Tents were set up on the beach, bands played raucous music along a seawalk, fireworks were launched, kids rode a Ferris wheel, and people gambled their money away. Comedians performed, a uniformed antigrav team dropped out of the sky, and everybody danced well into the night.
The following day, we went sightseeing, visiting several of the islands. We spent a couple of hours in the Maui Museum, where we picked up some books, mostly histories. But while we were wandering around, a couple of reporters showed up and began interviewing Alex. I drifted away and found a Wendell Chali collection. I’ve always enjoyed the Chali stories. They’re great mysteries, but unfortunately they’re six hundred years old, and two-thirds of them have been lost.
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