by mikel evins
“Through here,” said Zang, marching between the trees. They were big-boled deciduous plants, tall as a building, with huge crowns of leafy branches that merged over our heads into a dark green canopy. I couldn’t see the distant rooftops anymore. I might almost have been in an ancient forest on one of the heavy worlds.
As we passed into the shadow of the trees Zang stopped and stared.
“What is it?” I said.
“Shh,” she said. “Look. Is that a child?”
She pointed discreetly. Across the park a group of three humans strolled along a path. One of them was tiny, barely waist-high to the others. She held the hand of one of the normal-sized ones.
“I think so,” I said. “She looks older than a toddler, younger than an adolescent.”
All three walked slowly, looking around at the park. The child talked continuously and looked up often at the adults’ faces.
Zang shook her head.
“Why do people do that?” she said.
“What?” I said. “Natural childrearing?”
“You against it, Zang?” said Jaemon.
She shook her head.
“Not really,” she said. “Not against it. I just don’t see the point.”
“Some believe it’s a better way to bring new people into the world,” I said.
“Better for who?” said Zang.
She resumed her march across the park.
“Depends who you ask,” said Jaemon. “The Ithacans think natural childhood makes for better-adjusted adults.”
Zang snorted, then looked sidelong at him.
“Does it?” she said.
Jaemon shrugged.
“Ask Lev,” he said. “It’s not my area.”
“Mine either,” I said.
“The Parts all go for natural childrearing,” said Jaemon.
“Really?” said Zang. “That’s a lot of children. Why didn’t I see them on Mars?”
“Probably didn’t spend much time in Participant neighborhoods,” Jaemon said.
“True. I was mostly in Jupiter House.”
“There you go,” said Jaemon. “You don’t see a lot of children in Jupiter House.”
Zang stopped again. She gazed after the couple with their child.
“You all right?” Jaemon said.
“Hm? Oh, sure. Just remembering.”
“Remembering what?”
“Nothing. Let’s go. The History Office is that white building dead ahead.”
12.
The History Office was a peculiar white rectangular building. It was surrounded by white stone pillars like idealized representations of trees. A peaked roof capped it. All the walls were faced with the same white stone that formed the pillars.
“Pretty,” said Jaemon.
“If you like that sort of thing,” said Zang.
A frieze lined the building above the pillars and below the roof. Sculptures in the same style as the statue of Biru depicted people of various different kinds. I saw humans and other anthropoids, mechs, and theriopes. They were all at about the same scale, rendered side-by-side as if standing together on a platform. They looked out and up. The Fabric told me that the building’s architecture was in an ancient Greek style.
“Is that a mech?” said Jaemon, pointing at the frieze. The Fabric gave us a bright red dot on the statue he meant.
“The glyph says it’s O'Neill Strongarm,” said Zang, “The legendary explorer.”
“Looks like some kind of mech,” Jaemon said.
“That’s his space suit,” I said.
Jaemon looked at me.
“Space suit?” he said.
“What the ancients used instead of membranes,” I said.
“Wow,” he said. “Really? What’s with his head?”
“Helmet,” Zang said.
“Oh,” said Jaemon. He sounded dubious.
“It was thousands of years ago,” I said.
“I guess,” he said.
There was another lane in front of the History Office, with more lines of pedestrians and ground cars. This time Jaemon and I tried to emulate Zang’s confident full-speed-ahead march and we did a little better, except that I actually bumped into a floating prism-shaped mech of a model I didn’t recognize.
“Sorry,” I said.
“No consequential inconvenience,” it glyphed.
The front of the History Office was a wide stone staircase, white like the rest of the building. Gentle ramps flowed up on either side of the stairs, joining with a wide walk at the top that surrounded the building. We climbed up and passed between two of the tall columns and then through a huge doorway. Two heavy doors stood opened inward, decorated with rows of squares framing little vignettes of faces and figures out of legend.
The floor inside was polished stone in a checkerboard of black and ivory colors. A long, broad hall led to a reception desk. There were glyphic dioramas along either wall depicting a timeline from recent history back to the remotest past.
A humanoid mech sat at the reception desk, waiting motionless. E seemed simultaneously alert and indifferent.
“May I help you?” said the mech. Eir tone was disdainful. A glyph gave eir name as Adrian. E was one of those models designed to look exactly like a human, but with chrome and white graphene in place of flesh.
“We’re here to see Director Harken,” said Jaemon. “We have an appointment.”
“May I know your names?”
Jaemon passed our glyphs over.
“Just a moment,” e said. “I’m letting the Director know you’re here.”
I turned and looked around. The reception desk was in an atrium open to the roof. Five floors rose above us, exposing balconies along which people moved. There was an air of quiet reflection and the sound of hushed conversations echoing softly. Pillars like the ones outside supported and connected the balconies, but smoother and darker, gray and rose and polished to a shine.
“Mister Rayleigh,” said a high voice.
I looked around, seeing no one at first. Then I noticed a small movement and looked down. A big black bird stood on the floor nearby, regarding us with cocked head.
“Director Harken?” I said.
“Yes?” said the bird.
She looked me up and down, and then did the same to Jaemon.
“When Adrian announced you,” she said, “I’d hoped that one of you was Doctor Rayleigh.”
“You mean my brother Esgar,” said Jaemon.
“Brother?” she said.
“I’m Jaemon Rayleigh,” he said.
“Yes, yes, I see,” said the bird. “You’re not a historian?”
“Nope.”
“Pity.”
“You already met Doctor Rayleigh,” said Zang. “That’s what we want to talk about.”
“Well, yes, technically,” said Director Harken. “But then I was killed.”
“Welcome to the club,” said Jaemon. “Is there some place we can talk?”
The bird turned her head this way and that a couple more times, then said, “Come this way. To my office.”
13.
I guess I expected Director Harken to fly down the hall to her office. She was an Avian, after all. She didn’t. She marched ahead of us with a deliberate gait, her large head bobbing front-to-back with each step.
“My office is this way,” she said, tipping her head back to talk to us.
The hall was floored with the same checkerboard pattern of dark and light stone as the building’s entry. The wall on the left was white stone. The right was open to a central atrium filled with exhibit cases, with polished stone pillars at intervals, rising to a high ceiling with square decorations inset.
“So this place is open to the public?” said Jaemon.
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Director Harken. “We’re supported by subscription, like the other Institutes, and we collect donations from visitors. Sometimes we’re crowded. At the moment we don’t have any of the sorts of exhibits that draw large crowds.
”
“What kind of things draw large crowds?” I said.
“Oh, the remains of famous historical figures, or their well-known possessions. Collections of artifacts from well-known periods or events. Famous works of art or engineering. Those sorts of things.”
“What about ancient archives?” said Zang.
“Like the one you discovered, you mean?” said Harken.
We passed several doors, each with a name glyph floating before it. At the end of the hall on the corner was a door that bore the name of Theodora Harken. The door slid open as she approached.
“Scan archives like yours usually don’t draw much interest by themselves,” said Harken. “If we had one that was known to contain someone famous, or a member of a famous army or company, that would be different.”
Past the door was a large office made small by its contents. If Theodora Harken wanted to dispel stereotypes about Corvids, she was failing spectacularly. The room looked less like an office and more like a flea market. Racks of shelves and drawers lined the walls, blocking the windows. The shelves were covered with rusty machine parts, casts, fossils, old tools, bins filled with paper or plastic flimsies, hats, masks, gloves, rings, styluses, tins with glyphs painted on them, old humaniform mechs or parts of them, cargo containers, disks, cubes, pyramids, blobs of cloth or feathers or polymer fibers—in short, an overwhelming variety of random junk.
“Wow,” said Jaemon, looking around with a stunned expression.
Director Harken paused when he spoke. Her gaze flicked around the room, lighting here and there on the junk.
Carts sat in front of the shelves with still more detritus heaped on them. Many objects had tag glyphs floating over them. The hundreds of glyphs added to the riot of objects that was stacked to the ceiling on all four walls. Between the carts were more boxes of stuff, and smaller file boxes and folders stacked on those.
A big gray desk sat near one end of the room in a space carved out of the piles of rubbish. We crowded together into a small clear space in front of the desk. Director Harken spread her wings and fluttered up to land on a wide wooden perch that stood on top of it. I’d begun to wonder whether she could actually fly.
Jaemon was still staring around the room with a dazed expression. The Director eyed him and then, seemingly, the piles of junk occupying most of the space in her office.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a bit busy in here.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Jaemon said.
The Director drew herself up and regarded Jaemon coldly with one eye.
“I hope you’re not here to criticize my housekeeping,” she said.
“No, of course not,” said Jaemon. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Director Harken flipped her head to look at him first with one eye and then with the other.
“What about?” she said.
“Honestly, I’m not quite sure,” Jaemon said. “The artifact that we brought to show you has been stolen. We need to find it.”
Director Harken peered around the room at her collection again.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “But why come to me?”
“It’s a place to start,” Jaemon said. “We were meeting with you about the artifact when it was stolen.”
“So I’m told,” said Director Harken. “But then we were all killed. I’m afraid my most recent archive was a few weeks old, so I’m still, ah, catching up. I don’t remember anything about your artifact or our meeting.”
“That’s too bad,” Jaemon said.
“Yes it is,” Director Harken said. “I’ve been wanting to meet Doctor Rayleigh for some time. Now it seems I’ve already met him and can’t remember it at all. It’s very irritating.”
She regarded Zang with her curious head-flipping gaze.
“I’m no expert in humans,” said Director Harken, “But you look very much like our Commander Erdos.”
Jaemon looked at Zang with a grin.
“This is Erszbet Zang,” he said.
“Oh yes,” said Director Harken. “I remember now. Erszbet Zang. You were Commander Erdos before, weren’t you?”
“That’s none of your business,” Zang growled. Director Harken drew her head back and sidestepped down her perch away from Zang.
“You think she asked you that when she met us aboard Kestrel?” said Jaemon, still grinning.
“Shut up,” Zang said. “Director, what do you know about our artifact?”
“I know that whoever did the scans did a very respectable job.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Oh, was that your work?” she said. She stepped down her perch and leaned toward me, looking at me with alternating eyes.
“Yes,” I said. “I made the scans under the Captain’s direction.”
“Captain?” said the bird.
“Captain Rayleigh,” I said. “Esgar Rayleigh.”
She stood up straight again on her perch and sighed.
“Captain Esgar Rayleigh,” she said. “It sounds so strange. I can’t understand why he left academe.”
“What’s so special about Esgar?” Jaemon said.
“Are you joking?” said Director Harken. “Doctor Rayleigh is very prominent. Everyone knows his work. His monograph on early postbellum mechs has become a standard reference work.”
“Really?” said Jaemon. He raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with Zang.
“Who knew?” he said. “To me he’s just my grumpy brother.”
“Grumpy?” said Director Harken.
I said, “The Captain is known for a somewhat pessimistic personal manner.”
“Really?” said the Director. “You’d never guess it from his monographs.”
Jaemon made a face.
“You’d never know anything about him from those,” he said.
“Nonsense,” said Director Harken. “Doctor Rayleigh is obviously a sensitive and intelligent individual with a lively sense of humor.”
Jaemon made an appreciative face at Zang. She shook her head and half-smiled.
“I’m sure the Captain would be happy to meet with you again,” I said.
“Captain?”
“I mean Doctor Rayleigh,” I said.
“Oh,” she said. “Do you really think so?”
“If it will help us find the artifact, sure,” said Jaemon. “In fact, I guarantee it.”
“Ah,” said the Director. “As to that, I’d like to help, but I’m not sure how I can.”
“Me either,” said Jaemon. “But more information is always better.”
“What information do you imagine I might have?”
“How about the value of the artifact?” Zang said. “What’s it worth?”
Director Harken stepped up and down her perch and looked this way and that.
“Doctor Rayleigh would know that better than I,” she said after a moment. “The Mech Wars is his area of expertise. Mine is the early Confederation and the history of the Lands and Houses.”
“But your area of expertise also includes acquisitions,” said Zang.
“Yes,” admitted Harken. “That’s true.”
“And you’re empowered to make estimates and offers on behalf of the History Office.”
“Yes, yes,” said Harken. “In consultation with other experts, of course.”
“Like Esgar,” Jaemon said.
“Well, yes.”
“According to our records, you agreed to discuss an acquisition for the History Office.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” said Director Harken. “And I’ve glanced over the scans. They’re quite good, as I mentioned.”
She looked at me.
“Do you have a background in history? In archaeology?”
“No,” I said. “I’m a forensic physician.”
She studied me closely for a moment, then turned her head and went back to pacing up and down her perch.
“Too bad,” she said. “It’s a pity to see someone waste their tal
ents like that.”
I looked at Jaemon. He grinned at me.
“Maybe he doesn’t think of it as wasting his talents, Director,” said Zang.
“Hm?” said Harken. She looked at Zang, then at me.
“Oh yes,” she said. “Sorry. I’m afraid I can be rather single-minded about my work.”
“That’s one way to put it,” said Zang.
“No offense taken,” I said.
“What about the question?” said Zang.
“Question?” said Harken.
Zang sighed and said, “Is the artifact valuable? Do you think someone would be motivated to steal it for sale?”
“Well, I suppose it must be,” she said. “Someone did steal it, didn’t they?”
Zang rolled her eyes and looked at Jaemon. He laughed.
“They did,” he said. “Thing is, we’d like to know why. Did they steal it to sell?”
“What else?” said Harken.
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
Director Harken stopped pacing and stared at him.
“What would I know about it?” she said.
“You are the local history expert,” said Zang with exaggerated patience. “You are the chief curator for the History Office on Solomon. You handle acquisitions for them. Who would know more about ancient artifacts and their trade and care? Who else would know more about buying and selling them? Who would know better what markets might exist for them?”
“Yes, I see,” said Harken thoughtfully. “You make a strong case.”
“And you were going to make us an offer,” said Jaemon.
Harken stopped again and looked at him.
“Was I?” she said. “I don’t know about that. I don’t remember it. I know from office records that we discussed an acquisition. I know that I agreed to examine your artifact based on those lovely scans. I know that Doctor Rayleigh said the artifact was important, and I have the greatest respect for his expertise. But I don’t know that I was prepared to make an offer.”
“But you were prepared to consider it,” said Jaemon. “What kind of offer would you have been prepared to consider?”
