The older brother, Gregory, still lived in the area. There was no indication of a profession, so I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that he had settled for the basic security allotment. When I called and told him I was doing research on Eliot, he couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. “It’s a long time ago,” he said.
I wondered whether he was jealous of the attention that Eliot had received. Still jealous, after forty years? “That’s why we need to do the research,” I said. “I was wondering if there was more material available about your brother that I could look at? We’d like to get a sense of who he really was. And of the family that could produce somebody like him.”
“What do you mean?”
“The world knows he’s a hero, but they’ve never really gotten a good image of the man.”
“I don’t think I have anything that would be of use to you. Nice to talk to you—”
“No, wait. Don’t break off. This is important, Mr. Cermak. And I’d be willing to pay for access.”
“Really? How much?”
I gave him a number. It was a minimum amount, but it’s always easy enough to increase the offer if necessary.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do what I can. But payment up front, please.”
“Let’s see what you have to offer first.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” His tone softened a bit. Not much, but enough.
“Do you have anything that belonged to him? Correspondence? Diary? Anything like that?”
He had to think about it. “There’s a diary. I have a lot of stuff, actually. My wife never throws anything out.”
“What else?”
“Pictures. A lot of pictures. And an award he received. In high school, I think it was. I don’t have any correspondence.” He couldn’t think of anything else. “Mostly pictures,” he said. “And a notebook.”
“When can we talk?”
I doubted that Gregory Cermak had ever looked much like his brother. Where Eliot could have been a leading man, Gregory might have been a guy who’d spent most of his time hanging out in the woods. He had hard, almost immobile, features, and he was irritable and impatient. He introduced me to his wife, Vella, who seemed beaten down, then made it clear that she must have other things to do.
He didn’t have much to tell me, mostly stories about him and Eliot growing up together. His resentment of his brother came through loud and clear. Eliot had been selfish. “Though maybe I shouldn’t say that.” The other kids in school hadn’t liked him as they had Gregory. “He was always whining about something, but please don’t print that. The only reason I’m saying it is so you can understand he wasn’t really what everybody thinks now.”
“Greg,” I said, “how do you account for his actions during the earthquake?”
“Look, Chase,” he said, “I’m not saying he was a bad person. If I said that, I’m sorry. It’s not what I meant. I just wanted you to understand he was as human as everybody else. He ran into buildings and pulled kids out while everybody else ran in circles and screamed that he’d get himself killed. Which is ultimately what happened.” He said it as if it demonstrated his brother’s bad judgment. Then his tone changed: “I like to think that if I’d been there, I’d have done the same thing.”
“You weren’t there?”
“No,” he said, in a tone that suggested I wouldn’t believe him. “I was on a job.”
“Did you ever meet Robin?”
“Chris Robin? Not really. I saw him at a distance once or twice. I don’t think I ever actually talked to him, though.”
“Did they come down from the Skydeck on the shuttle?”
“Yes. Eliot’s skimmer was at the terminal. He took Robin home and then rode back to Caton Ferry.”
“He wasn’t very lucky, was he?”
“No.” I saw a hint of regret.
“What about the yachts? You know he and Robin lost some yachts?”
“I heard about that, yes.”
“Do you know anything about them?”
“Not really. I joked with Eliot about them. What were there? Three?”
“Four.”
“Okay. Yeah. They’d just take them out somewhere and dump them.”
“And you’ve no idea why?”
“Eliot said they were junk. They were just using them for experiments.”
“Did he say what kind?” He shook his head. “How about where they went? Did he ever—?”
“No. When I asked Eliot about it, he laughed it off. They bought them, or rather Robin did, and I think they deliberately took them out and got rid of them. But I don’t know. Eliot was never inclined to tell me stuff.”
“And you’ve no idea where?”
“No.” He bit his lower lip. “I remember he said something about one of the yachts, the Firebird, I think it was. The last one.”
“Yes?”
“I remember asking Eliot, just before he left, where he was going. And he said, ‘Just for a spin.’ I asked him what he meant, and he said two hundred billion klicks. He shrugged, like it was just around the corner.”
“Two hundred billion. You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t million?”
“No. It was billion. It stuck in my mind because usually he’d say he was headed for Toxicon, or the Moon, or wherever. But that time, no. It was just two hundred billion klicks. I remember telling him it sounded like a long walk.”
That couldn’t be right. Two hundred billion kilometers would take you absolutely nowhere. Well outside the planetary system, but it would deposit you in the pit. In interstellar space.
“What about the Breakwater?” I asked.
“It got junked.”
There were pictures, holograms, even a bust of Eliot sculpted, according to Gregory, by a girlfriend. In school, Eliot had been at the top of his class a few times, and he had framed certificates to testify to it.
I picked up the diary. This was where I expected, hoped, to find everything laid out, explanations of what he and Robin were trying to do. Maybe I’d even get a sense of what had happened on that final fatal night. So I opened it, in Gregory’s presence, and made no effort to disguise my disappointment. It covered only his junior and senior years in high school. Mostly it was a record of love affairs and occasional conquests.
“We did it,” he reported at the beginning of one entry. “I never thought Molly would go along. She always went just so far and backed off. But we did it. O happy day—!”
Damn.
O happy day.
So we went through the pictures. I didn’t know any of the people in them, except of course Cermak and Robin. And Gregory. Gregory agreed to identify everybody, provided I increased the remuneration. Remuneration might not have been in his vocabulary, actually. “This is taking up my time,” he said by way of explanation. “And I should warn you up front that some of these people, a lot of them, actually, I don’t know.”
Whatever Eliot had been, Gregory was not. He grumbled that I wasn’t moving fast enough. He ignored Vella when she arrived with some muffins and fruit juice. She’d probably been attractive when she took her place with him at the altar. He rolled his eyes a lot and didn’t seem able to get comfortable in his chair.
Nevertheless, he helped and I made notes. “This was Dr. Farley, the family physician. That was one of Eliot’s girlfriends. Yolinda Something-or-other. Don’t know who this one is. Oh, yes, that’s Talia, his first wife.”
“He was married?”
“Twice. The other one was, um—” He pushed back in his chair, opened the door to the living room, and called to his wife. “Vella, what was the name of Eliot’s second wife?”
“Akri,” she said.
“They divorced him?” I asked. “Both wives?”
“Talia did. Akri, I think, just let the marriage lapse.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“It hardly matters now.”
And here was the picture of Cermak and Robi
n that had been in the book. And a few more. A couple with Cermak and Akri. One showing Robin sitting in the right-hand seat in a cockpit. “The Breakwater?” I asked.
Gregory shrugged. “Who the hell knows?”
“You were never in it?”
“No. Not me. I like to keep both feet on the ground.”
More pictures from the cockpit. In one, Eliot was looking out at an enormous set of rings. Robin, in another, was just sitting, trying to smile, and not doing a very good job of it, while the same rings cut across the wraparound. I wondered where they were. The instrument panel was visible, but I couldn’t make out any details. Blowing it up wasn’t likely to help. Still, there was always a possibility. “Can you make a copy of this one, Greg?” I asked.
He looked at it as if he might be giving away something I should be paying for. But he shrugged and directed the AI to make a print.
Then a surprise: a picture of Robin’s house on Virginia Island. In fading sunlight. And a shot of the ocean, taken from the bluff. And one of Elizabeth, looking out to sea. All three pictures were moody, placid, somehow wistful. Taken at the same time of day.
Then we had Eliot lifting off in a skimmer. “That was the last time I saw him,” said Gregory. “It was my father’s funeral. We had a memorial service, and afterward he left, went out to wherever it was with Chris Robin. He came back just in time to get killed by the quake.”
“Who took the picture?”
“My son Creviss. Creviss always wanted to be a pilot. Be just like his uncle.”
“Did he do it, Gregory?”
“No. He became a lawyer. Don’t know which is worse.”
ELEVEN
The value of an object is whatever we assign it to be. It is not anchored in economics, but in the imagination.
—Timothy Zhin-Po, Night Thoughts, 10,002 C.E.
I was on my approach to the country house when Straight Talk started. Deryk Colter was their guest. Colter was an historian, tall and thin and passionate. He’d made a career of finding fault with Alex, and immediately after sitting down, he began going on about the sanctity of the past and how we could not seriously progress unless we learned from it. He was appalled at the dearth of historical knowledge by the general public. And he was particularly dismayed by those who understood the importance of looking back, of avoiding the same old blunders, but who nevertheless saw no contradiction in robbing humanity of its cultural heritage, of trampling it for profit. He was, of course, speaking of Alex. “The man is insufferable,” he was saying as I started down toward the landing pad. “He’s trying to make Chris Robin look like an erratic genius who may have opened a door to other realities, then walked through it. The truth is that Robin probably wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing and fell into the ocean. Anyone who’s ever been out to Virginia Island knows how easily that could have happened. Maybe he had a little too much to drink. In any case, Benedict is not to be taken seriously. Not in this matter. And I don’t mean to take anything away from his achievements. I grant him all that. But in the end, he’s a salesman, and he can’t be trusted.”
The host, Charles Koeffler, managed to look disconcerted. “What you’re saying, Deryk, is that he’ll do anything for money. Is that your position?”
I shut the thing off before Colter could answer. And I came down on the pad a bit harder than I might have. The AI quietly pointed out that he’d warned me several times about listening to talk shows while I was running the skimmer.
I grumbled something, climbed out, and walked toward the house, not sure whether I was more annoyed with Colter or with the AI. Jacob opened the door for me and said hello. I said hello back, went inside, took off my jacket, dropped my notebook on my desk, and wondered why I was living in a place with such a cold climate.
I was still getting settled when Alex came downstairs. He was smiling, looking as if he’d just left a party. “Welcome home, beautiful,” he said. “This place feels empty without you.”
I was in no mood for banter. “Alex, I don’t know why you keep doing this. These guys are ripping us apart.”
“You mean Garland?”
“No. Has he been torching us, too? I was talking about Colter—”
“Yeah. Well, we’re a pretty good target at the moment. But they’re playing right into our hands. Giving us more traction. The interest in the Robin artifacts is going through the roof. By the way, we’lI be running the auction in a couple of days.”
“What about your reputation?”
“I’ll be fine. Chase, if you do anything creative, anything at all, you have to learn to live with critics. The charges aren’t true. All I’ve done is bring to public attention the fact that Robin had some unusual preoccupations. And I reminded them that he’d disappeared. Those guys, Garland and Colter and the rest, this is their only chance to get out in front of an audience. Relax.”
“I don’t think we should let them get away with it.”
“I’m not much interested in throwing mud. Our clients trust us. That’s what’s important.”
“That’s not the only thing that’s important.”
He grinned. “I’m glad to have you looking out for me.”
“I don’t like being insulted by those idiots.”
“I know. Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve arranged to be on Kile’s show tonight.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Chase, not to change the subject or anything, but did you know that, the night of Robin’s disappearance, the investigators were able to determine that only three skimmers left Virginia Island?”
“I hadn’t heard that. But one would have been enough to carry him off. I assume they checked them out?”
“One was Cermak. The other two were locals, and the police were convinced neither could have been involved in his disappearance.”
“I can’t see how they could make that determination.”
“From tracker readings. They wouldn’t be definite, but they’d be close enough.”
“Did you pass it on to Ramsay?”
“I’ve been saving it. I’ll use it this evening on the show.” He went into lecture mode: “Always have something new when you go on one of these things. Throws the critics off stride.” He eased himself down onto the love seat. “How was the trip?”
“I’m pretty sure Robin isn’t an alien.”
“Sorry to hear it. I saw what you gave Ramsay. It was pretty good.”
“I thought about telling him how people used to see Robin walking the streets whenever the moon was full, but I thought I’d better let it go.”
“You get anything more on the lost yachts?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Greg Cermak, Eliot’s brother, said that Eliot told him they’d taken the Firebird out two hundred billion klicks.”
“And—?”
“Two hundred billion kilometers takes them absolutely nowhere. It would be way outside the planetary system.”
“And of course Beta Marikon—?”
Beta Marikon, of course, is our nearest stellar neighbor. “Nowhere close,” I said. “They would simply have been in the pit.”
“You think the brother might have been mistaken?”
“Sure. Still, he seemed certain that was what Eliot had said.”
He thought about it. “Something to file.” He started for the door. “When you’ve a minute, come on back. I’ve something to show you.”
After I got organized, I followed him to his office in the rear. He poured coffee for me and got out some sticky buns. I settled into a chair. “I just hate the personal attacks,” I said.
“I know. Audree feels the same way. She thinks I should retire and just sit out here for the rest of my life.”
“You know, nobody’s really suggesting that. But we could lower our profile a little.”
“That would take all the fun out of it.”
“Look, Alex. You mind if I tell you what I really think?”
“I wasn’t aware you haven’t been doing that all along.�
��
“You’ve accomplished more than most people dream of. Kids look up to you. Everybody except people like Colter respects you. And he’s just jealous. They’ll name some schools after you one day. But who knows when it might all turn around. I’m tired of watching you risk your reputation.”
“Chase—”
“Let me finish: For you, this is always a game. It’s the same game you played with your uncle. It almost destroyed your relationship with him. It’s time to give it up. It really is. You don’t need the money. God knows you don’t need the celebrity.” I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. “Screw it up now, one misstep, and it’s going to be gone. If people start to believe these stories, it’ll be over. Once they decide you’re a con artist, you won’t get your reputation back. Not ever.” I was trying to hold my temper in check.
“Chase.” He looked offended. “I have an obligation to our clients, too.” He stopped and stared at me. “Is that what you think I am? A con artist?”
“Sometimes, Alex, I’m not so sure.”
“Okay.” His face paled. “Chase—” Then he bit down on whatever he was about to say. I don’t think I’d ever seen him seriously angry with me before. “All right,” he said. “Let it go.” He took a piece out of one of the buns, pushed them across to me, and chewed silently. When he’d finished, he commented that Jacob had come across another sighting that we hadn’t known about previously.
The display lit up, and we were looking at a dispatch dated 1385.
(KPR) An unidentified ship passed within tracking range of Tippimaru last night. Authorities at the space station reported that the vehicle did not respond to repeated directives to turn flight control over to the operations center. All attempts at communication proved fruitless.
Failure to comply put the vehicle in violation of at least six provisions of the transport code. An investigation is under way.
An operational representative added that no one was in danger at any time.
“That’s interesting,” I said. “I hope you’re not going to tell me that Chris Robin was there again?”
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