“Not that I know of.”
She turned back to Adams. “Arlen, what’s the common wisdom on this? Will it ever be possible to travel to one of these places? Assuming they exist?”
He used his folded hands to support his chin. “Ever is a long time, Leah. Certainly, we won’t be jumping into one of Mr. Benedict’s universal cabs to visit them anytime soon.”
Leah nodded. “I’m glad we have some consensus. Let’s talk about his disappearance.”
Adams had been wearing a superior smile. Now it faded, and his features took on a regretful aspect. “He came back from a trip to Skydeck, was dropped off outside his house, and nobody ever saw him again. He’d probably been drinking and fell into the ocean.”
She turned back to Alex: “But you think he disappeared into an alternate universe?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She brightened. “I wish you would.”
“Leah, there’s no way to be sure what really happened. We’re looking into it now.”
“Good luck with that,” said Adams.
“Alex, don’t you think if there were anything to any of this, somebody would already have looked into it?”
“People have, Leah. The police still have his case open, but it remains a mystery. Did he fall into the sea? Was he taken by someone? Or did something outside our experience happen to him? Professor Adams has that part of it right: The story’s so wild that most physicists don’t want to touch it. I mean, it does nothing for your professional standing to take something like this seriously. So they keep a respectful distance. Should it turn out at some future date that he actually did find a way out of this reality, there’ll be no shortage of Professor Adams’s colleagues claiming they suspected it all the time.”
“So you do think it’s possible, Alex? To cross into another universe?”
“Who’s to say what’s possible and what isn’t, Leah?” Alex glanced at Adams, who had closed his eyes and was just perceptibly shaking his head. Who, indeed? It was times like this that left me wishing I’d gone into real estate.
What had really happened on the evening that Eliot Cermak brought Chris Robin home? The best approach would have been to ask Cermak, but he unfortunately did not have an avatar on the Web. But Elizabeth did.
Avatars are notoriously unreliable, of course, because they will say what they’ve been directed to say. So-and-so was an idiot. I never saw the jewelry. I never did the stuff they accused me of. But sometimes, if you’re careful, and you ask the right questions, you can get a piece of the truth.
Alex asked me to stay with him for the interview. Women, he believed, even avatars, usually responded more readily if there was a second woman present.
The Elizabeth who appeared that morning was not the young dark-haired beauty who’d been in the photos. The luster had faded. I saw a more accomplished version of her sister Karen. Her eyes suggested a weary competence rather than the effusive charm of her younger self. Her hair was cut short in a severe fashion that had vanished a generation earlier. “Hello,” she said quietly. “What can I do for you?”
We introduced ourselves. “We’ve been employed by your sister,” Alex explained, “to determine the value of some of the estate items that you passed on to her.”
“Oh, yes.” Her lips tightened. “She intends to sell everything, does she?”
“No. I didn’t mean to give you that impression. But she’s concerned that you and your husband have not received the kind of credit you deserve. It’s been a while now since your husband’s disappearance, and, as happens to so many of us, people are beginning to forget his contributions. And yours, since without you, he could not have been so effective.”
Those dark eyes reflected a touch of amusement. “You do speak well, Mr. Benedict. What did you want to know?”
“We’d like to know whether you have any idea at all what happened to him?”
She studied Alex momentarily, then looked my way. “May I sit down?”
Usually, an avatar provides its own chair if it wishes to sit. “Of course,” said Alex, indicating that she was welcome to use any of the available chairs or the other end of the sofa that he was using.
Elizabeth smiled pleasantly and picked the sofa. “I have no idea what happened to him. It is a question that has always haunted me. I just don’t know. I wish I did.”
“Do you know of anyone who might have had a motive—?”
“There were people who didn’t like him. Some who were jealous. But I don’t think anyone would ever have gone so far.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know. Obviously, someone had a reason.”
“Is it possible he might have taken off on his own?”
“I’ve wondered about that, too. Years ago, I would have been shocked at the question. But I’ve gotten used to it. Every time I was introduced to someone, they always found a way to ask that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We were happy, Mr. Benedict. I loved him.” She was staring past us, looking at some distant place. “And he was in love with me.”
Alex signaled me to take over. “What actually happened that night, Elizabeth?”
“I don’t know. I’d been down at the church. They were having a social. When I got home, I went to bed. Apparently, Eliot brought Chris home shortly before midnight. I never heard the skimmer.
“Whatever happened after that—” She shook her head. “He never came inside; I’m sure of that. I woke up during the night because of the earthquake. We didn’t take any damage, but we got some tremors. It’s a scary thing when the ground shakes under you. I never realized they’d been there until I heard, two days later, that Eliot had died in the quake. I couldn’t understand that because he was supposed to be out with Chris. But it left me fearful that Chris had been stranded somewhere. That Eliot was supposed to go back and pick him up.” Her voice shook. “It’s all very confusing, Ms. Kolpath.”
“Call me ‘Chase,’ ” Isaid. “Do you know where they’d gone? Your husband and Eliot?”
“No. It was always orbital stuff, and I just wasn’t very interested. I guess I should have been.”
“Were you expecting him home that evening?”
“Not really. He’d said he expected to be gone about a week. By then he’d been gone three or four days, so no, I wasn’t looking for him.”
“Did he usually let you know when he’d be back?”
“He sometimes came back early. When he did, he’d usually call from Skydeck. But not always.”
Alex got up and walked over to his desk. “So he did this often?” he asked. “Traveling off-world?”
“Yes. He did it all the time.”
“Did you ever go with him?”
“Three or four times. I don’t particularly enjoy it. I used to get dizzy just going up to Skydeck.”
“You deleted everything in the house AI. Why?”
“Too many memories. He was there. In the system. I could have spent endless evenings talking with him. Enjoying him. Pretending he was really in the house. Really alive. I knew if I did that, I’d never survive.”
“It would have been hard,” Alex said. There’ve been cases of people who needed treatment when they refused to let go of loved ones who’d died. “How did you find out Cermak had been to the house? Was it neighbors?”
“We didn’t really have anyone living close enough to qualify as a neighbor.” She smiled ruefully. “I loved the house, but I didn’t like the solitude. We were all alone out on the Point. That was Chris’s idea. I went along with it.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “There were a couple of people out for a walk. Along the ocean. They saw the skimmer come down. When they described it, it sounded like Eliot’s. But since Chris had never arrived, I thought it must have been just a coincidence that it looked like his. But the two witnesses, they swore it landed. And, of course, when it turned out that Eliot had gotten home and been killed in the quake—”
“It must have been a terrible shock,” said Alex.
>
“It was,” she said. “And it never went away.”
FIVE
Ghosts exist. The terrifying aspect of the phenomenon, however, is not that they haunt abandoned houses and dark forests and old cathedrals. No. It is nothing as simple as that. It is rather that they haunt the mind. And, unfortunately, it takes far more than a few prayers or a dash of holy water to get rid of them.
—Ferris Grammery, Famous Ghosts of Dellaconda, 1311
I brought up the images of the Robin collectibles. Again, it was the portrait of the starship that drew my attention. The bulky, retro interstellar that had hung on Robin’s wall. “Jacob,” I said, “can we connect this vehicle with anything?”
He was briefly silent. Then: “Working.”
I studied the ship. The two odd symbols on the hull.
The ship’s designator. But it was a language I’d never seen before. Mute, possibly?
“I have a match, Chase. It’s the Sanusar contact. It passed by the station fifty-four years ago. It has never been identified.”
Bingo. And that probably explained why Alex thought he’d seen it before.
“It was visible for several hours.”
“Did they get any radio contact, Jacob?”
“Negative. They tried, but got no answer.”
When I reported what I’d learned to Alex, he let me see he already knew.
“And I’ve a surprise for you,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Let me show you something. Found this last night.”
Suddenly, I was looking at a crowded concourse. Something was going on. Everybody was excited, and people were moving close to where a familiar figure was being interviewed by a virtual journalist.
Chris Robin.
“So,” said the reporter, “what do you make of it, Professor?”
“I’m not sure,” said Robin. “But it’s not just a lost ship.”
“It’s Sanusar,” I said. In 1380. A half century ago. “And Robin was there—?”
“Why do you say that, Professor? That it’s not just a lost ship?”
“Because of the way it left,” he said. “If you look at the record, you’ll note it didn’t simply move into hyperspace. This was different.”
“You know,” I said, “maybe this is why he got interested in these sightings in the first place. He happened to be present when one of them occurred.”
“Maybe.” Alex looked puzzled. “But I think there’s more to it than that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Let me show you the media reports for the second week of the new year, 1387. Jacob?”
The monitor lit up, and I sat down in front of it and scanned the headlines:MEYER ARRESTED ON CORRUPTION CHARGE
SCIENTISTS PREDICT HOT SUMMER
FREEDOM PARTY UNDERWRITES STRIP JOINT
SARA GOLD SEPARATES FROM HARRY
POLICE OVERREACTED, SAYS ANGRY MOTHER
And, finally:ALIEN SPACE VEHICLE AT SKYDECK?
(WWP) An alien ship may have passed through the planetary system last night, the Deep Sky Operations Directorate reported this morning. It appeared without warning at the outer edge of the Rimway launch and recovery area, did not respond to calls from the operations center, and, approximately three hours later, passed out of range of the scanners. It was also sighted by a private yacht, which was able to get pictures of it.
Authorities believe the contact was not a standard Confederate vehicle because of its method of departure, which signified an unknown type of drive unit. The vessel did not appear to be Ashiyyurean.
The intruder never approached close to Rimway. According to authorities, it was at no time considered a threat. And they have stated they do not believe it to have been of alien origin. According to the spokesperson, it is deemed far more likely it was an experimental spacecraft and that its origin will become apparent within a short time. No one, however, could explain why it did not respond to repeated queries.
The private yacht was the Breakwater, owned and operated by Eliot Cermak. It was, unfortunately, unable to overtake the intruder. Pictures taken by Cermak indicate that the unknown ship simply accelerated well beyond the yacht’s ability to stay close.
An investigation is under way.
“Cermak?” I said. “The same one who was ferrying Robin around?”
“Yes.”
“Do we know whether Robin was in the Breakwater at the time?”
“No. But I’d bet on it.”
“You don’t believe in coincidence?”
“No.”
“But you think he was present for two sightings.”
“I didn’t say that was a coincidence.”
“How could he possibly have known in advance?”
“I don’t know, Chase. Answer that, and we’ll be a step closer to finding out what happened to him.”
Alex made two more public appearances over the next few days, and was interviewed by the Celestial, a magazine that specialized in sensational stories. When I suggested he was playing into his critics, he told me it was product enhancement, and it was an essential part of the business.
It was working. Interest in the Robin artifacts continued to mount. Karen Howard got excited when she saw what was happening, and she called, insisting that we hold the auction while the demand was high.
“We’re not ready yet,” Alex told her. “Give it some time.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Benedict?” She did not sound comfortable with the idea.
“Everything’s going our way, Karen. Let’s just be patient for a bit longer.”
“All right. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” Her tone suggested that was hardly the case. “When do we plan on holding the auction?”
“We’re watching the market. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to go.”
A few minutes later, Shara Michaels called. She blinked on in front of my desk, wearing a blue lab coat. “How’s the big sale going?” she asked.
“Which one is that, Shara?”
“Robin.”
“Pretty well. Did you want to put in a bid for something?” Shara, of course, was a physicist.
“To be honest, I’m tempted.”
“Really?” That seemed out of character. There are two kinds of collectors: those who hope to acquire an artifact in order to make a profit down the line, and those who have a sentimental interest in the object. Shara didn’t fit readily into either category. “Why’s that?”
“I’ve been watching Alex. On the talk shows—”
“And—?”
“He makes Robin sound much more intriguing than I’d ever thought. I wouldn’t mind having something of his around the apartment. To remind me to keep an open mind, maybe.”
“He is pretty good at that. Selling a story, I mean.”
“I guess. Did you know that Robin believed in a second life?”
“A lot of people do.”
“But not many physicists.” She looked at me as if I were a bit slow-witted. “He ran experiments to try to determine whether the mind, the soul, whatever, survived the death of the body. He was morbidly aware of his mortality. Couldn’t stand the thought of dying.
“There were other things as well. He thought there had to be highly advanced civilizations scattered around the galaxy. He spent a lot of his time trying to find a way to communicate with them.”
“Sitting in a room with a transmitter?”
She laughed. “Actually, yes. A hyper system of some sort. He was hoping to find a way through the borderlands.” That was a reference to transdimensional space-time, which was still not well understood. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that you guys should be aware that, obscured in all the eccentricities, the guy was a genius. But that’s not the reason I called—Chase, I’m worried about Alex. He’s taking a lot of criticism right now in the media. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, Shara. I think he’s used to it.”
“Okay. I’m glad to hear it. If I can help i
n any way—”
“Sure, Shara. I’ll tell him you called. We’ll let you know if you can do anything.”
“Thanks.” She started to disconnect, but hesitated. “One more thing about Robin?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t suppose his notebook’s included among the artifacts? Or the house AI? I didn’t see either listed.”
“No. We don’t know what happened to the notebook. Elizabeth deleted the data banks in the AI so she wouldn’t be tempted to bring him back.”
“I can understand that. Chase, if you come across a journal, a diary, anything like that, I’d like to know about it.”
“Okay.”
“It could have some very valuable stuff in it.”
“I’ll ask his sister-in-law. Maybe she knows something more than she’s told us.”
“Good. If you come up with anything, can I persuade you to call me first?”
“Sure, Shara.”
I called Karen Howard. “No,” she said. “He did have a notebook. Used to carry it around with him a lot. But it wasn’t among the stuff that came with the estate.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ll check and get back to you.”
I’m not sure why, but I didn’t much feel like going back to the mundane administrative tasks I’d been working on all day. I sank into my chair and found myself thinking about Gabriel Benedict, Alex’s uncle, who’d hired me to work for the archeological team he’d led. I’d spent most of my time then in the field at his sites rather than in an office. But when we were at home, this had been our headquarters, and I’d been behind the same desk. There was a scratch across one side of it, where he and one of his colleagues had gotten careless and bashed a spade into it. The damaged side was now set against the wall so no one could see it.
There was a picture of Gabe and me on the bookcase. He had a trowel in one hand and a bone in the other. I was leaning on a spade. He’d been more than a boss. He’d been a friend. I spent three years with him, ferrying him and his colleagues to remote locations around the Orion Arm. I’d known, of course, that civilizations rise and fall, that cities enjoy their time in the sunlight, then, for a variety of reasons, sink into obscurity and, eventually, into the ground. Everybody knows that. But I hadn’t understood the implications until Gabriel Benedict had hired me on as transport director—the title was a gag: I was the pilot for the Fleury Archeological Initiative, named for Ann Fleury, who’d put the organization together in an effort to maintain the integrity of historical sites, to see that they were properly managed, and to keep them safe from exploiters.
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