Octavia Gone

by Jack McDevitt

  “It sounds unnerving. When did you find out what had happened?”

  “Actually, not until the problem was resolved and we got back into normal time.”

  “How did you react when you came out of the Capella and found out it was 1435?”

  “I couldn’t believe it. I mean, we’d gone eleven years into the future. I was shocked. We all were. But we were home. A few things had changed, but I was grateful everything turned out okay.”

  “Gabriel, I understand you and your celebrated nephew Alex have begun to look into the loss of the Octavia station. You know, of course, Alex’s reputation for tracking down historical mysteries. Have you made any progress on this one? Do you guys have any idea what happened out there?”

  “It’s too early, Hiroka. To be honest, I’m still recovering from the ride on the Capella.”

  “Well, I can certainly understand that. I can’t help wondering, is there any possibility that whatever happened to the Capella has happened again with the Octavia? That it’s caught somewhere in a space-time warp?”

  I watched as the conversation lurched into the various Octavia theories. Whenever Gabe tried to change the direction, to move it toward the projects he’d begun working on, Hiroka found a way to take it back to Octavia. They touched on the possibilities of an alien intervention or of a mechanical breakdown that took the station out of orbit and sent it spiraling into the black hole or of a deranged Charlotte Hill suitor arriving unexpectedly with a blaster.

  “I think,” said Alex, “she’s decided her audience loves black holes.” After twenty minutes, Hiroka thanked Gabe for coming in and broke for commercial.

  The next guest was Samuel Pondergast, a physicist who specialized in black holes. “What happens to you,” she asked after she’d introduced him, “if you’re on a space station or a ship and you get dragged into one of those things?”

  “It’s not good,” said Pondergast.

  • • •

  I was alone in my office when Gabe got home. He wasn’t happy. “I got ambushed,” he said.

  “You’ve been on her show before, Gabe. She didn’t really surprise you, did she?”

  “Actually, she did.”

  “But she’s always operated that way. She’s good at controlling the conversation.”

  “I can tell you she’s a lot better than she used to be.”

  “I haven’t really seen much of a change.”

  “You’ve been watching her for a decade. The change would have been gradual.” He started toward the back of the house, but stopped. “Did Alex see it?”

  “Yes. He thought you did fine.”

  “Sure he did.”

  • • •

  A few days later there was some fallout from the broadcast. Alex was attending an auction and Gabe had gone to lunch with friends when a skimmer descended out of a threatening sky. “His name is Reginald Greene,” said Jacob. “He wants to talk to Gabe. I’ve already informed him Gabriel is not here.”

  Greene was the guy whose interest in Charlotte Hill had raised eyebrows. I watched him climb out of the skimmer and stride up the walkway to the porch. He looked like a man on a mission. “Let him in,” I told Jacob.

  “Are you sure? His background suggests—”

  “Just open the door, please.”

  He was tall, lean, dressed casually in tapering stretch pants and a pullover shirt with ANDIQUAR stitched across it. He had clean-cut chiseled features, black hair, and an amicable expression except for a darkness in the eyes. “My name’s Reggie Greene,” he said. “I want to see Gabriel Benedict.”

  “He’s not here, Mr. Greene. Can I help you?” He stood looking down at me, trying to decide how to proceed. “I’m Chase Kolpath. His assistant.”

  “I watched him on The Morning Report the other day. He’s talking about opening up the Octavia investigation again. Do I have that right?”

  “More or less,” I said. “Please come in.” I led him into my office and signaled for him to sit down. “It’s not Gabe who’s doing the investigation. It’s one of our other people. Alex Benedict.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Unfortunately, he’s not here either. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “My first name is Reginald. Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes. I understand you were a friend of one of the people lost on the station.”

  “She wasn’t exactly just a friend.”

  I was glad Jacob was there. In case this threatened to get out of hand. “Mr. Greene, what can I do for you?”

  His eyelids lowered. “You think so too, don’t you?”

  I knew what he was referring to, but I wasn’t going to walk into it. “I think what?”

  “That I caused it.”

  “Mr. Greene, if you’re talking about Octavia, I have no idea what happened. In any case, it’s hard to see how you could have had a hand in it.”

  “Well, thank you. It’s nice to hear someone who’s willing to cut me a break.”

  “Sir, do you by any chance know what happened out there?”

  His features hardened. “No. How the hell would I know?”

  “Why don’t we start over? What can I do for you?”

  “You must know that half the people on the planet think I destroyed the damned place and killed everybody on board.” He looked around the room and took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t even know how to think about doing something like that. But it doesn’t matter. They broadcast it on the news shows, and they had people showing up on HV saying how I’d gotten away with murder and that the justice system was useless. It’s been eleven years, and this damned thing is still hanging over my head.” His voice softened. “Chase, it’s never going to go away.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Greene.”

  “It’s not your fault. But I’ll tell you that I wasn’t happy to see it all coming out again. I used to be a teacher. But that’s a long time ago now. The board decided I shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near children, especially girls. I loved teaching. At one time, it was my life. It was all that mattered to me. Except Charlotte. I guess it’s time I admitted that. But my life is over now. I don’t see that anything can happen to change what I’m living with.”

  “You did travel out to Octavia, right?”

  “Yeah. Dumbest thing I ever did in my life.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “Because I loved her. I’d have died for her. Given anything to have been able to hold on to her. Which, please understand, would never have allowed me to harm her in any way. Let alone kill her. I went out there because I didn’t want to give up. It was my last chance. If it didn’t work, I was going to walk away from it all. Be done with it. It wasn’t the first time I’d made that decision and then went back later. But it was getting harder. My God, Chase, she was light-years away. But I just wanted to try one more time. I was telling myself that if I didn’t make the effort I’d always wonder what might have happened. Whether I might have succeeded. So I got all the money I had, which I’d been saving for years, and I hired Oakie McCollough, and he took me out there—”

  “Where you talked to her.”

  “Yes, I did. By radio.”

  “She was in the shuttle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ask if you could rendezvous with her?”

  “Does that matter?”

  “I take it she said no.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “How many times did you go out there?”

  “Three.”

  “I had the impression you were only there once.”

  “No. I didn’t give up that easily.”

  “But that last time, you were back home before the station dropped out of sight?”

  “Yes.” He was staring at me. “Maybe if I’d been there when whatever it was happened, I could have helped. Maybe I could have gotten them off the place.”

  “All right. I’ve got the message. I’ll pass it along to Alex.”

  �
��All I’m asking is that he doesn’t drag me into it again.”

  “Mr. Greene, I’m not conducting the investigation, so I can’t make any promises. But I’ll tell him.”

  “Please,” he said. “I’ve had all of it I can take.”

  • • •

  When Alex got back, I explained what had happened.

  “It’s not an easy call,” he said. “Greene came from money. His family owned a substantial piece of the Green Valley restaurant chain.” One of them was located on Skydeck and had recently become a favorite of Alex’s. “The family also owned the yacht Greene had used. He’d served periodically on the board of directors and had been handling its public relations operations when the Octavia charges were first leveled against him. Journalists had reported that people who’d worked with him insisted that, in their experience, Greene had shown no signs of erratic behavior. And nobody knew anything about a connection with Charlotte Hill.”

  “So where’d the story come from?” I asked.

  “A couple of Charlotte’s friends had avatars. They reported that Greene possessed an undying passion for her. That he’d been unable to leave her alone. And that he’d visited Octavia. Which, of course, is on the record.” The ILEA, the Interstellar Law Enforcement Association, had conducted an investigation. “Charlotte and Greene had spent about four months dating during her senior year at the University of Andiquar.

  “As far as either of the avatars said, Charlotte never thought of him as anything more than a casual date. When she realized he was falling in love with her, she broke it off. One of the friends said she did it as gently as she could, ‘but she could see the pain in his eyes.’

  “Afterward Greene began showing up on the campus between her classes, wandering through the crowds of students. And at the restaurant she liked. She quit going there as a result. He rarely tried to speak to her, but instead pretended to look busy whenever she was in the area. To look as if he was there for other reasons having nothing to do with her. He even came to watch her play in the regional chess championships and congratulated her when she won her first game and again when she took the title.”

  “Did the report name the friends?”

  “No.” Alex sat down finally, closed his eyes, and let his head sink onto the back of the chair.

  “It’s irrelevant anyhow,” I said. “The point is that he wasn’t there when it happened.”

  “I know. But he must have known that, even though no one could prove he’d been in the area at the time, it wouldn’t look good. Maybe it’s time we went over and talked with the ILEA people.”

  I’ve commented earlier that I have serious doubts about the existence of true love. Maybe I should rethink that.

  • • •

  The Interstellar Law Enforcement Agency is an arm of the Confederate government. Its local headquarters is located in the center of Andiquar just west of the Hall of the People. The building isn’t much to look at, rectangular and flat, three stories high, set amid pools and fountains. A statue of Justice, a blindfolded woman holding a scale, stands among the columns at the front entrance. The parking area is marked for official business only, but there were empty spaces and we were able to get clearance as we drifted overhead. “Should have called first,” Alex said. “We got lucky.”

  As we descended toward the blinking light that marked our designated spot, Alex called in and identified himself. “We’d like to talk with someone about the Octavia incident,” he added.

  “What’s that?” It was a male voice. He sounded young.

  “The space station that vanished eleven years ago near a black hole.”

  “Okay, sir, hold on, please.” He was back a minute later. “Just come to the main desk and we’ll take care of it.”

  Heavy clouds drifted across the sky and a brisk wind complicated the parking. But we got down okay, climbed out, and walked around to the front entrance. The doors opened and we strode into a circular lobby with a half-dozen offices, numbered 101 through 106. The main desk, actually the only desk, was located immediately on our right. It was unoccupied.

  As we approached, we got a voice: “Mr. Benedict?”

  “Yes.”

  “Proceed to office 104, please.”

  An elderly man with white hair and a wiry white mustache waved us in. He was seated beside a display and a bookcase. There were only a few volumes. Mostly it was filled with family photos. “My name’s Roger Cassidy,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  Alex introduced us as we made ourselves comfortable on a sofa. “We’re doing some work on the Octavia incident. I was wondering if there’s been any recent information about it. Has the ILEA picked up anything new during the last few years?”

  “I’m sorry to say that nothing’s changed since the original investigation, Mr. Benedict. We don’t know what happened. We don’t even have a decent theory.”

  “Have you ruled anything out? Aliens, for instance?”

  Cassidy gave us a tolerant smile. “Not really.” His reaction indicated he thought the alien theory was nonsensical, but he wasn’t going to say so. “Right now, anything’s possible.”

  “Did you have access to the transmissions that would have come in during the month before the disappearance?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “What can you tell us about them?”

  “There was nothing suggesting a problem.”

  “Was there anything other than routine reports?”

  “Of course. There were occasional messages from the research team to their colleagues at DPSAR and the Quantum Research Group.”

  “Would you be able to show them to us?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Benedict. They’d require a release. But I’d recommend you save your time. Both DPSAR and QRG have dismissed the notion that any of them have a connection to the disappearance.”

  “What other messages have you?”

  “That is all. There were numerous personal communications, but all are locked down by privacy laws. We were able to acquire messages to certain recipients, but the vast number went to people for whom we could devise no reason to get a court order.”

  “Did you get to see any of those? Any of them get turned in voluntarily?”

  “Some. Not many. I wasn’t working here at the time all this happened. But I understand there were a few copies that were made available.”

  “Was there anything that caused some alarm?”

  “Not that I know of, Mr. Benedict. If I may ask . . .” He removed his glasses and set them on the table. “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

  “No.” Alex paused a moment. “We know some of the people who’ve been hurt by the affair. Who are desperate for answers. We were hoping the ILEA might be able to provide something.”

  “I wish we could. This is an issue that’s haunted us for a long time. But there’s just nothing there. We can’t even be certain a law was broken.”

  “What about Reginald Greene? Is there any possibility he could have been involved?”

  “Mr. Benedict, I don’t see how that would have been possible.”

  “Is there anything at all you know of that we’re missing?”

  “Well, there might be one element: One of Charlotte Hill’s friends told us that she, Charlotte, sent a message saying something didn’t feel right. Apparently she didn’t explain, and as far as I know, we never saw the transmission.”

  “Something didn’t feel right?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “Can you give us the name of the friend?”

  “I’m sorry. When people talk to us, they have a guarantee of privacy.”

  • • •

  “Well, that wasn’t very helpful,” I said as we went back out into the lobby and through the doors onto the parking lot.

  “Yeah,” said Alex. “I don’t think Greene had anything to do with it. The truth is that, even if he’d wanted to cause some damage, I don’t see how he could have managed it. I’d like to tal
k with someone who was familiar with whatever happened between him and Charlotte.”

  “I hope you’re not talking about Olivia.”

  “No, people don’t usually lay romantic stuff out with their parents.” He was walking slowly in the wrong direction. I had to stop him and point us toward our lander. “Sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t thinking. There was somebody I remember reading about. A woman Charlotte played chess with during her college years. Karen Something. Give me a minute.”

  We got back into the skimmer and started for home. He got on the datanet and began a search for Karen and chess. It was a popular name in the area but he saw nothing about a Karen who played chess at a high level. We weren’t halfway back to home before he shut it down. “Nothing here that rings a bell,” he said.

  When we got to the country house he started up the staircase, stopped, held an index finger to his lips, and smiled. “Bianchi,” he said. “Karen Bianchi. That’s who it was. Olivia mentioned her too. She said she was Charlotte’s best friend through her college years. I wonder if she’s one of the two friends cited in the report?” He hurried the rest of the way up the stairs, obviously intent on locating Karen Bianchi. Ten minutes later he came back down. “Okay,” he said, “I’ve got her. Her name was Karen Bianchi. It’s Randall now. I left a message for her.” He was going back out the door. “I have an appointment. If she calls, find out if she stayed in contact with Charlotte on Octavia. And if she has any idea what might have happened. Whether anything unusual was going on. Okay?”

  He hurried out, jumped into the skimmer, and left.

  My own work had piled up. Chad had been missing for a week. I’d been trying to get evaluations for the more recent artifacts that had come in. And while I was engaged in that, a client arrived with what she claimed was a script for Walk with a Tiger, a classic eleventh-century play by Roger Ackerly. The script was autographed by Ackerly and I was in the process of verifying it when another guy arrived with a vintage skimmer. His name was Alfonso Picariello. I asked him to hang on while I finished with the Ackerly play. It took about twenty minutes to confirm. The owner was offering it to us to buy, or we could put it on auction. Our choice. It was the sort of choice Alex was supposed to make. I could only guess at its potential value.