Alex Benedict 07 - Coming Home

by Jack McDevitt

  “You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

  “Well, I suspect he’s made a few enemies.”

  “You don’t think somebody actually took him down, do you?”

  “No, not really. The people he usually went after weren’t the type to resort to violence.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I’ve no idea. For all we know, he might have fallen into the Melony. But that probably didn’t happen or we’d have gotten a pollution problem.”

  “Alex—”

  “Okay, I’ll stop. Let me know if you hear anything. If anybody calls, tell them to check with our clients. He might be out berating one of them.” He checked the time. “Have to go,” he said. “Got an auction.”

  He rarely brought anything of value back from the auctions, but it happened occasionally. And business was slow. He’d been gone about an hour when we got a call from Fenn Redfield, the police inspector. “Hi, Chase,” he said. “Is Alex there?”

  “He’s downtown on business, Fenn. Can I help you?”

  “You know that Kolchevsky’s gone missing?”

  “Yes. Is Alex a suspect?” I couldn’t resist myself.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Kolchevsky seems to have just walked off the planet. We’re talking to everybody we know who had any kind of connection with him. I’m hoping Alex might have an idea where he could have gone.”

  “If he did, Fenn, he wasn’t telling me about it. But I’ll put you through to him. Hold on a second.”

  * * *

  That evening, I closed the office and headed for dinner with friends. Afterward, we went to a concert, drank a little too much, and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Later, when I got home, I felt moderately guilty for having a good time while Kolchevsky was maybe dying somewhere. I don’t know why that was. I had no more affection for the guy than Alex did. Still, I guess, when people get in trouble, you forget about the kind of treatment you’ve received from them.

  He’d lectured me a couple of times, and hadn’t been the only one to warn me that one day I’d regret helping Alex loot the past. That was actually the way he’d phrased it.

  I don’t know. Sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about the operation we run. I understand that it would be nice if all these artifacts were placed where anyone could see them. But I’ve also seen the pure joy that accompanies ownership. I’ve watched older people, who’ve achieved pretty much everything you could ask from life, just light up when Alex delivered an artifact they’d been pursuing. Especially one touched, or used, by an historical figure. It’s not the same as being able to stand in a museum and admire something in a glass case. It has to do with owning the thing. With being able to take Byrum Corble’s link—the little silver one shaped like a dragon—being able to take it home and put it on display over the mantel.

  There are a lot of artifacts. It seems to me there are plenty for public display, and more than enough left over for private collectors. So why not? Why do museums have to control them all?

  Why do I feel I have to justify what we do?

  When I went to bed, nothing had changed regarding Kolchevsky. He was by then missing almost three days.

  In the morning, though, there was news: His skimmer had been found. On the parking lot at a restaurant at the foot of Mt. Barrow. Barrow was about fifteen miles northwest of Andiquar. The police were concentrating their search in that area.

  “Why are you so caught up in this thing?” I asked Alex. “That guy never had a kind word for either of us.”

  “Just curiosity, Chase. I’ll admit I didn’t care much for him.”

  “I think he was jealous of you. Take it as a compliment.”

  His face took on a tolerant expression. “I’d have a hard time believing that.”

  “Were you able to give Fenn any information?”

  “Not really. A couple of names of people Kolchevsky was associated with. He probably already had them. But otherwise I had nothing. I didn’t know anything about his personal life.”

  We sat down in the kitchen at the country house, and he poured coffee for us. “Did you get anything at the auction yesterday?”

  “There were a couple of minor items I thought about picking up. A dress that belonged to Sonia Calleda. She wore it in”—he checked his notes—“Virgin Spring. It was in good shape, and I thought they were underestimating the value.”

  “But you didn’t opt for it?”

  “It’s not exactly our style.” He tried the coffee. “There was also a locket that Pyra Cacienda wore on her Victory tour back at the turn of the century. Again, probably seriously undervalued.”

  “But—?”

  “I don’t know. I backed off. Pure instinct, I guess.”

  He left to go confer with one of our clients. It had something to do with artifacts from the Mute War. Rainbow didn’t actually own any, of course, but we specialized in putting clients together. And, on occasion, when we’d gotten some information, we’d converted ourselves into archeologists and gone out to see what we could find. We were actually pretty good at that. Gabe, of course, had been a dedicated archeologist, and Alex had learned from him. We both had.

  * * *

  Larry Earl called. “I don’t really have anything more on my father-in-law, Chase,” he said, “except that I remember his telling me that he’d gone to the site of the Florida Space Museum.”

  “Okay, Larry, thanks.”

  “He also mentioned that it’s underwater. He had to use diving gear.”

  “I’ll tell Alex.”

  His face creased. “Chase, I wish it hadn’t taken all these years to find that thing.”

  “You mean the transmitter?”

  “Yes. We were wondering if we shouldn’t just sell it? Take what we can get and forget the whole thing?”

  “I’d recommend you give it some time.”

  * * *

  “I’m not surprised,” said Alex. “He was the kind of guy who couldn’t have resisted going down to the museum. I don’t think he could have found much, though. People have been looking through it for thousands of years.”

  “Does he mention it anywhere?”

  “Not that I’ve come across. I’ve watched a good many of his addresses and gone through most of his papers.”

  “You find anything significant?”

  “He had a passion for the Golden Age. But you already knew that. He spent most of his life at archeological sites that were connected with the early years of space exploration. He did some work at the NASA launch area in what used to be Florida. It’s almost all underwater now, not just the museum. But that didn’t stop him.”

  “Did he find anything?”

  “Nothing of any value. Whatever was left had been ruined by the ocean. He was seriously angry that the NASA people didn’t make a more serious effort to salvage things. Of course, to them, most of the stuff they left was junk. They’d have seen no value in, say, the computers that were used during the first Moon flight.”

  Something like that, today, would have been worth a small fortune. Even if it weren’t one of the actual computers. Just one that was the same type. “Pity,” I said. “But that’s why artifacts command a price. If everybody held on to everything, they wouldn’t be worth much.”

  “That’s a point, Chase.”

  “So what else did Baylee do?”

  “He was central to some of the recovery work in Washington.”

  “That was the United States capital, right?”

  “Yes. During the second and third millennia. He did some of the excavations at the Smithsonian. And was part of a team that rebuilt the White House along the banks of Lake Washington. And before you ask, that was where the executive offices were.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “He was still young then. Pretty much just along for the ride. He also spent a year on Mars at Broomar. The first colony. And he did some work at the NASA site in Texas.”

  “Texas was part of the United States originally, too, if I
recall?”

  “Yes.”

  “He did pretty well.”

  “He also helped find the submarine they used on Europa.”

  “That was the big one. First discovery of extraterrestrial life.”

  “Very good. You did pay some attention back in high school.”

  “Only when it was raining.”

  “He’s got one other major credit. He led the mission that found the Ayaka.”

  “Which was?”

  “A twenty-first-century automated ship that got lost while surveying Saturn. It stayed lost for nine thousand years. Until Baylee found it.”

  “Where was it?”

  “Still orbiting Saturn. It became part of the rings. Baylee thought that no serious effort was ever made to recover it. In fact, it had been completely forgotten until he came across an old record.”

  “Makes you wonder what else is out there.”

  Alex nodded. “Incidentally, on another subject, some of the Capella families are banding together. They want to stop any effort to shut down the drive unit. They don’t want the government to take any action that would put the passengers and crew at risk.”

  “I can understand that,” I said. “JoAnn’s afraid that what she wants to do could sink them permanently.”

  “What do you think about it? If it were your call, Chase, would you take the chance? Try to shut it down?”

  “What are the odds again?”

  “Right now they’re saying that the chances for success are around ninety percent.”

  “That it will succeed? Or that it won’t kill everybody?”

  “That it won’t kill everybody.”

  Lord. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think I’d try it.”

  SIX

  Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness,

  Some boundless contiguity of shade,

  Where rumor of oppression and deceit,

  Of unsuccessful or successful war,

  Might never reach me more.

  —William Cowper, “The Task,” 1785 C.E.

  They found Kolchevsky on the fourth day. The body was on a hiking trail, three-quarters of the way up the north side of Mt. Barrow. He’d apparently suffered a heart attack and fallen into some bushes, which had concealed the body from climbers. He hadn’t used his link to call for help, so it seemed likely that the end had come swiftly. “What we do not understand,” said Fenn, who came by the country house that afternoon, “was what he was doing up there. He had a history of heart problems, and he’d been warned about causing undue strain. The last thing in the world his doctors wanted him to do was go mountain climbing. And worse, that he would do it alone.”

  “Why didn’t he have it replaced?” I asked.

  “His doctors said he was in denial. Whatever, he refused treatment.”

  Alex closed his eyes for a moment. “Have you ever been on Mt. Barrow, Chase?”

  I shook my head.

  “Me, neither.” He turned back to Fenn. “Is there a restaurant or a tourist area or something up there? On the mountain?”

  “No. Not on the mountain. The closest one is down at ground level. Where his skimmer was parked.”

  “And he was on foot?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “That suggests he wasn’t really trying to get somewhere. He was just out walking.” He shrugged. “Or hiking.”

  Fenn frowned. “How do you know he wasn’t trying to get somewhere?”

  “Why walk? Especially with a health problem. Why not go in by air? Use the skimmer?”

  “No.” Fenn shook his head. “You weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t familiar with the area, were you?”

  “You mean there’s no place to set down?”

  “Not unless you want to land in a tree.”

  Alex looked puzzled. A lovely blue arglet landed at one of the windows and peered in at us. “Were you able to get anything from his AI, Fenn?”

  “Just that when he left the house, he said he would be a while. Nothing more.”

  “I don’t guess he’s ever done any archeological work on the mountain?”

  “None that there’s any record for.”

  “Okay. What was the restaurant where he parked?”

  “Bartlett’s.”

  “Did he eat there?”

  “Yes. At about one. Nobody saw him after he left.”

  “Fenn,” I asked, “why do you care about this? It’s not a police matter anymore, is it?”

  “No.” He delivered that broad smile. “Call it professional curiosity. I can’t believe a guy who’s been warned about a weak heart has a hefty lunch. And then goes mountain climbing. He did eat pretty well, by the way. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes.”

  “I don’t guess you know,” Alex said, “if he reached wherever it was he was going?”

  “No. We don’t know whether he was going up or coming back down when he had the attack. But he got pretty high in any case. He was only a couple of hundred meters from the top when it hit.”

  “Well, Fenn,” said Alex, “I wish we could help. I never had much in the way of personal dealings with him, except when he was lecturing me. So I can’t really contribute anything.”

  “All right, guys, thanks.” The inspector got up. “If you think of anything, give me a call. Okay?”

  He left. And I knew what would be coming next. “Want to go for a ride?” Alex asked.

  “Don’t tell me. We’re going for an uphill walk.”

  “I thought you might enjoy lunch at Bartlett’s.”

  * * *

  We checked the news reports first, which showed us where the body had been found. Then we headed out. Alex has a philosophy that you cannot work effectively on an empty stomach.

  The restaurant was located where Route 11 plunges into the mountain chain. It was still a bit early when we got there, so there was plenty of room for the skimmer in the parking area. We touched down, went inside, and ordered. It was an unusually warm day for midwinter. The sky was clear, and Lake Accord had more than a few boats. While we waited for the food to appear, I offered my theory. “Kolchevsky was a crank. You know that as well as I do. I’d bet the reason he went up the mountain was precisely because the doctors told him not to do it. I had an uncle like that. He’d get the same kind of directions, and it always set him off. I was about twelve when he was telling my folks about how he was supposed to keep calm and not get excited and he kept going, his voice rising, getting seriously enraged that anybody would tell him how to live his life.”

  “How’d he make out?”

  “He eventually got his heart replaced.”

  “Yeah. Well, I don’t think Kolchevsky fits that kind of personality.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “There was always a kind of coldness in the guy. Especially when he was on the attack. No, he was too methodical. He didn’t fly into a rage. That was all part of the act. I’m not saying he didn’t get legitimately angry, but he struck me as a control freak. I usually knew what was coming next with him, and I can’t recall ever seeing him get off script.” His eyes drifted toward the window. We had a view of the parking lot, and beyond it, the rising slope of Mt. Barrow, which was covered by heavy forest. A couple of men carrying camping gear had just come out of the trees and were getting ready to cross the highway. “No,” he said, “Kolchevsky had a reason for going up the slope.”

  “Was he married?” I asked.

  “His wife died twenty years ago.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “he was going to meet a girlfriend.”

  * * *

  Barrow was by no means the highest mountain in the area, but I could see why it would have been popular with climbers: It was about fifteen hundred meters above the surrounding country, providing a magnificent view of Lake Accord, which is really a small ocean, stretching almost 140 kilometers to the west.

  It’s wide-open country, with only a few houses scattered in remote places. I’ve always thought that, when the time c
ame, this was the sort of area I’d want to retire into.

  We finished eating, left Bartlett’s, and got our backpacks out of the skimmer. We crossed Route 11 and started up the hiking trail. About two kilometers in, it split in two. One track turned northwest into the heart of the mountain range. The other, the one on which Kolchevsky had been found, plunged into ever denser forest and headed for the summit. We stayed with it.

  It grew steeper, until we were moving carefully, placing one foot in front of the other and sometimes using branches to pull ourselves uphill. And finally Alex pointed off to the right side at a cluster of trees and bushes. “This is it,” he said.

  It was easy to visualize. Whether Kolchevsky was going up or coming down, this would have been a difficult patch of ground to navigate. He had apparently staggered off into the shrubbery and collapsed.

  We stood quietly for several minutes. Finally, Alex shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Let’s go up the trail for a bit.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “What was he doing up here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Right.”

  * * *

  As we got higher, the slope eased off somewhat, the trees thinned, and the trail moved out along a cliff overlooking the lake. A group of rocks formed a cradle embedded at the rim. It was a place where you could sit down and enjoy a sandwich with a view. In fact, several people were there when we arrived.

  Clouds had begun building while we were on the trail. And now a soft rain began to fall. The people on the cradle—there were five of them—looked up. They gathered their gear and, as we watched, moved out and started down the trail. They said hello as they passed. We stayed in the shelter of the trees.

  When it slacked off, we followed the trail the rest of the way to the top. Somebody had planted a WCC flag on the summit. The World Conservation Corps. I’m sure you’ve seen one, but in case you haven’t: It portrays a gomper with big round eyes sitting beneath a rosebush, and their axiom, SAVE THE PLANET. The WCC, of course, is actually a Confederacy-wide organization that tries to remind people about maintaining the environment.