Alex Benedict 07 - Coming Home

by Jack McDevitt

  “You think there’s much chance we’ll actually find something here?”

  “Probably not,” he said. “But it’s a place to start.”

  * * *

  We touched down at Elpis, checked into the Parakletos Hotel, and rented a car. Before leaving America, Alex had set up a meeting with one of the professors in the archeology department at Papadopoulos University, indicating he’d like to get some information about local archeological activity.

  After we’d gotten settled, he called the school and got through to the professor, Theta Taras. She was an older woman, probably well into her fifteenth decade. “When would you like to come over?” she asked.

  “At your leisure, Theta,” he said. “I suspect we’ve a much more flexible schedule than you do.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’ll be free any time after three thirty.”

  “Perfect. We’ll be there.”

  * * *

  The university was of modest size. Three or four buildings, boasting classic architecture, which suggested that the Greek spirit was not dead. The campus was filled with hedges and flowering bushes and fountains. When we arrived, students were on the run, and bells were ringing. The car let us off in one of several parking areas and gave us directions for reaching the Student Union Building.

  Theta’s office was on the second floor. Sunlight poured in through two sets of windows. There were pictures of Theta posing with students and colleagues at dig sites and award ceremonies. Plaques and bronze cups looked out at us from a cabinet. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chase,” she said, with a broad smile. “And Alex Benedict. I never expected to have a chance to say hello to you. That’s a marvelous service you provided with those missing interstellars. I can’t imagine what those people must be going through.”

  “Thank you, Theta. And you’re right. I hope we’re able to get them clear.”

  A door opened, and a young lady came in with a tray full of snacks. I wasn’t sure what they were, but they were brimmed with icing.

  There was a ruggedness about Theta that suggested she’d done a lot of fieldwork. She had amber-colored hair that literally gleamed when the sunlight touched it. “Alex,” she said, “you indicated that you wanted to talk about archeological projects here in Elpis. If you’ve no objection, I want to invite one of my colleagues to sit in. He’s been more involved in local efforts than I have.”

  “That’s fine,” said Alex.

  “I don’t think anything of archeological significance has happened in Elpis over the past century that Manos wouldn’t know about. Assuming that something actually has happened.”

  Manos was considerably smaller than she was and probably a few years older. He seemed much more the classic academic type, with inquisitive brown eyes, sharp features, and a goatee. We did another round of introductions. His last name was Vitalis, and he was the chairman of the archeology department.

  “We’re looking for a project,” Alex said, “that would have taken place approximately eighteen years ago. Garnett Baylee would have been running it. Has either of you ever met him?”

  Theta indicated no.

  “I did on one occasion,” said Manos. “Just to say hello to. But that would have been—” He stopped to think. “It was at the award ceremony for Benjamin’s retirement. That would make it a quarter of a century. Give or take a couple of years. Theta tells me you are doing a hunt for some space artifacts.”

  “That’s correct. From the Prairie House in Centralia. It was originally material from the Huntsville Space Museum.”

  “Why do you think they would have been brought here?”

  “The evidence isn’t exactly overwhelming, Manos. Just a comment by Marco Collins to a colleague. You know who he was?”

  Manos nodded. “Of course. And Collins thought these artifacts had been brought here?”

  “He admitted the possibility. That would probably have been enough to bring Baylee looking. It’s possible, by the way, that if he did come, he might not have revealed what he was actually looking for.”

  “Why would he have done that?”

  “We don’t know. But there may be a layer of secrecy about this.”

  “We have a list,” said Theta. She put it on the display. “These are local projects initiated during the period in which you’re interested.” There were seventeen of them, extending between twenty-five and seventeen years earlier. One by one, they took us through them. The Welka Initiative was sponsored by the Athenian Historical Society, and had consisted of an excavation in an area that had once been the headquarters of Mikos Valavos and his rebel group. They’d been active during the period in question. Next was the Olmert Project, which was funded by the Southwick Foundation. That, of course, immediately caught our attention. “They were looking for a library,” Theta explained, “a collection of physical books that was believed to include classics all the way back to Homer. They thought they might recover The Iliad. And several hundred other titles that we’ve lost.” He sounded genuinely frustrated. “But they got nothing.”

  We looked at the documents from the Olmert Project. They contained nothing suggesting the excavation team was trying to find anything other than what they claimed. In addition, people who knew Baylee had been at the dig site. Baylee had never been seen and, if we could believe the record, had had no connection with the effort. And, in fact, the project had occurred after he had returned to Rimway.

  Theta and Manos continued through the entire list. Nothing else came close to qualifying.

  * * *

  We weren’t even off the campus before Alex commented that, by the way, there were three other places named Larissa.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “We assumed because he was from the Greek one—”

  “I get it. Where are the others?”

  “Canada and West Africa. And a Pacific island.”

  “Are we going?”

  “You think there’ll be a sunrise tomorrow?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Be cautious of a man whose eyes never reflect joy.

  —Armand Ti, Illusions, 7212 C.E.

  The Pacific island and West Africa didn’t take much time. The Canadian town had gone out of existence thousands of years ago. The location was now occupied by South Kolva, one of the largest cities in North America. We were able to determine within reasonable boundaries that Baylee had never been to any of the three locations. Nor had anyone else arrived during the last twenty-five years to establish an archeological site.

  “It looks like a dead end,” Alex said.

  “I guess so.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Before we pack it in, we have one more person to talk to.”

  * * *

  Eisa Friendly Charters was located at the southeastern tip of Aquatica, a hundred kilometers northwest of where the ancient city of Jacksonville had been. It was as close as you could get on land to what had once been the Space Coast. Eisa occupied a pier on Golva Bay. A pair of flags flew over their office, one representing Aquatica and the other the corporate banner, displaying a laughing dolphin seated behind the wheel of a yacht. The dolphin wore a scarf and a captain’s cap.

  A young woman sat behind a counter when we walked in. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  The room seemed to be constructed of wood and was filled with pictures of sailboats and cabin cruisers. A blinking sign advertised special rates and assistance for divers.

  “Hello,” Alex said. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. Can I be of assistance?”

  “I hope so. We’re doing some research on Garnett Baylee. He was an archeologist. Pretty well-known. And he was a customer here some years ago. We’re working on a book about him, and we were wondering if anyone here might remember him?”

  “You’d have to see Ms. Peterson. What kind of information are you looking for?”

  “Anything personal. Everybody liked Professor Baylee, and we’re hoping to find some background material. Anecdotes. Anything
at all.”

  “Hold on a second.” She got up and went into an adjoining office.

  The sign changed, and a submersible appeared. Let us take you for the cruise of your life. Visit Miami. Reasonable rates.

  And moments later: Enjoy time at sea with your friends. Friendly Rates from Friendly Tours.

  She returned, accompanied by a lean, smiling woman in a blue-and-white blouse. “Your name, sir?” she asked.

  “Alex Benedict.”

  She glanced in my direction. Hazel eyes framed by soft brown hair. There was something almost mischievous in her smile. “You’re working on a book about Garnett Baylee?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “My name’s Polly Peterson. It’s been a lot of years since we’ve seen Garnett. How is he doing?”

  “He died quite a while ago.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear it. He was a good man.”

  “He was. He also earned a solid reputation as an archeologist. But you probably knew that.”

  “Yes. I believe I did hear something along those lines.”

  “Could you tell us anything about him? Did he talk to you about any projects he was working on? Anything like that?”

  She went behind the counter and consulted the computer. “May I ask what kind of book?”

  “A biography.”

  “I see. Well—” She shrugged. “We took him out on a number of different occasions. Usually, he just wanted to go for a cruise. He loved the sea. He usually brought friends with him. They’d go out and have parties. I got the impression they were usually coming off a work assignment of some sort. There’s only one time that we have listed where he had a specific destination.”

  “And that was—?”

  “The museum.”

  “The Space Museum?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Did he go in a submarine?”

  She consulted the computer again. “No. They went diving.”

  “You say they. Can you tell me who was with him?”

  She squinted at the display. “He was apparently alone on that occasion. The only one with him was my brother, Khaled. He would of course have accompanied him on the dive.”

  “Of course.” Alex looked up at the sign. A schooner was now visible under a full moon. Try our moonlight cruise. “Okay. Do you know what he did at the museum? What he saw? What affected him?”

  “Why don’t we go into my office?” She held the door for us. “You really need to talk to Khaled about that, Alex.” She smiled.

  The office was small, but the chairs were comfortable. There were more pictures of people in scuba and diving gear, of the company pier and office, and of groups of happy-looking customers in nautical clothing.

  “I’d like very much to do that. Can we set it up? What I’d really like to do is arrange to have him take us to the museum site. Is that possible?”

  “Khaled’s out on a cruise right now. Give me a chance to talk with him, and we’ll get back to you.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, as we were sitting down to dinner, she called. “Khaled will be free this weekend if you still want to charter a boat.”

  “Excellent,” Alex said. “Yes, let’s do that.”

  “Okay. The museum tour, right?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “Unfortunately, our submersible won’t be available. Is that a problem?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Good. Can you be here by eight Friday morning?”

  “Sure. We can do that.”

  “All right, Mr. Benedict. The agreement has been forwarded to you. Sign and return, and we’ll take it from there.”

  I brought up a picture of the Florida Space Museum as it had been before the ocean took it down. It had been a plain three-story U-shaped brick building fronted by a parking lot. A statue of an astronaut stood near a flagpole. Two landing vehicles and a rocket were in the immediate area. And that was about it. Nothing fancy. There was a myth that the building had originally housed a girls’ school, but there was no evidence to support that.

  * * *

  We ate on a balcony looking out over the ocean. It was a clear sky, no moon, but the stars were brilliant. I was watching lights moving on the horizon when Alex broke in to ask if I was okay.

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I glanced down at my plate. “I was thinking about the museum. And Cape Canaveral. The ultimate historic site. And it’s underwater. How could they not have noticed what was going on? They went to the Moon, and they couldn’t see that the glaciers were melting?”

  “I’m sure they did,” said Alex. “But you know how people are. They’re going to resist changing a lifestyle unless the danger is looking them directly in the eye. The glaciers must have seemed like somebody else’s problem.”

  It was time to change the subject: “You really think Baylee might have said anything to Khaled Eisa that would be of any help?”

  “Probably not, Chase. But the two of them would have spent considerable time alone on a boat. They dived to the museum together. What do you think they were talking about?”

  “Probably the artifacts.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Believe the illusion, and it becomes reality.

  —Ivira Taney, My Life and Look Out, 2277 C.E.

  We ate breakfast at the hotel. “I need a bathing suit,” said Alex. “There’s a beach place back down the road where I should be able to pick one up.”

  “We’re going down to look at the museum?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “I’ll go, too.”

  “You have any diving experience, Chase?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Any at all?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll have the imager along, so you can watch. This is no big deal, and you’ll be safer in the boat.”

  “Have you ever done any diving?”

  His eyes took on a sheepish appearance. “Khaled will have enough trouble just having one of us to look out for.”

  * * *

  We were back in the Eisa Friendly Charters Office Friday morning when Khaled came in. He was tall, gorgeous, a guy who caught my attention immediately. He had the same brown hair and hazel eyes as his sister. He might have been a twin. “Polly told me you were looking for me,” he said, ushering us into the office and offering some fresh fruit juice. “You want to go out to the Space Museum, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” said Alex.

  “And there’s something about Garnett Baylee?”

  “Yes, Mr. Eisa. Do you remember him?”

  “Oh, sure.” Khaled was more casual, more amiable than Polly. But both exuded authority. “We saw a lot of him. He’d take his people out for an evening of good times. They loved partying at sea.” His eyes touched mine, and he delivered an inviting smile.

  I returned the gesture.

  Alex saw the exchange and couldn’t entirely hide his amusement. But he plunged ahead: “When was it that he went to the museum? Can you give us a date?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Give me a second.” He checked the record. “June 16, 11,257.” Nineteen years ago.

  Alex glanced my way. That made it a year or so before Baylee returned to Rimway.

  * * *

  We boarded a cabin cruiser, the Patriot, and headed out to sea under bright, sunny skies. Behind us, the shoreline was mostly beach. A few kids stood in the surf and waved as we pulled away from the pier. Alex and I made ourselves comfortable in the passenger cabin. Minutes later, Khaled turned the boat over to the AI and joined us.

  “You guys know Garnett very well?” he asked.

  “No,” said Alex. “I never really met him.”

  “But you’re going to be his biographer?”

  “Something like that.”

  The conversation subsided into Alex’s standard methodology. We talked about Khaled’s background, how he’d grown up on the coast, had gone to Aquatica Un
iversity, where he’d majored in literature. But he’d always loved the ocean, and eventually he’d joined with his sister—who was, it turned out, a twin—to form Eisa Friendly Charters, which had four cabin cruisers and a sub.

  We’d been out about an hour when Khaled pointed to a passing boat. “There’s Silvia,” he said. “It’s one of ours.”

  * * *

  Eventually, Alex got back to Baylee. “So you took him out once to see the Space Museum?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You say that as if it’s unusual.”

  “Well, look, guys, there isn’t a museum. I mean, it’s been sitting down there for thousands of years. The tides took it apart long ago. There’s nothing there now. Probably hasn’t been for centuries. Just a few lumps in the ocean bottom. You can see where it was. But that’s the most you can hope for. If you want to go sightseeing, there are whole cities down there. Jacksonville, Orlando, St. Petersburg. They’re a mess, too, but at least they’re big enough that you can actually see them.”

  “Did you suggest looking at one of those instead?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “He laughed at me. That was before I knew him very well.”

  “He was only interested in the museum.”

  “You got that right. Look, Alex, I’ve seen guys get emotional about that place before. I understand what it means. But I’ve never seen anybody react the way he did. We went down, and after we came back up, he was almost in tears.”

  “He had a fixation about the place,” Alex said.

  “He was mad that they’d lost the stuff that had been in the museum. We stayed out here three or four days. He went down with a sensor and went all through the area, hoping to find something. But there wasn’t anything. I mean, they took everything out to—what was it?—Huntsville. And all right, I knew they wouldn’t have gotten everything, but it’s been nine thousand damn years. The guy just wasn’t making sense.” He shook his head. “It’s the only time I ever saw him like that.