"None," she said, biting off a sob. "My God, we’ve never had a problem of any kind, Mr. Benedict. Not really. He told me he was sorry, that he couldn’t explain, that he’d be away six months."
"Six months? You must have questioned him."
"Of course I did. They’ve called me back he said. They need me, and I’ve got to go."
"Who were they?"
"The Agency. He was a security officer. Retired, but it didn’t really make any difference. He’s still a consultant." She hesitated over the statement, but didn’t correct herself. "He specialized in commercial fraud, and you know how much of that there is these days." She sounded close to tears. "I just don’t know what it was about, and that’s what hurts so much. He’s dead and I don’t know why."
"Did you check with his agency?"
"They claim they don’t know anything about it." She stared at me. "Mr. Benedict, he never gave me any reason to distrust him. We had a lot of years together, and it’s the only time he’s ever lied to me."
That you know of, I thought. But I said: "Did he have any interest in archaeology?"
"I don’t think so. No. Is this Gabriel an archaeologist?"
"Yes."
"I can’t imagine any kind of connection."
Nor could I.
Her voice quivered. "The truth is," she continued, struggling to maintain her composure, "I don’t know what he was doing on that damned ship, where he was going, or what he planned to do when he got there. And if you have any ideas, I’d be grateful to know what they are. What sort of man was he, your uncle?"
I smiled, to assuage her fears. "One of the best I have ever known, Mrs. Khyber. He would not willingly have led your husband into danger. Or anything else that would have troubled you." Why would a retired police officer have been along? Bodyguard, perhaps? That hardly seemed likely. "Was he a pilot?"
"No."
"Tell me, Mrs. Khyber, did he have any interest in history? In the Resistance, particularly?"
A puzzled expression flickered across her features. "Yes," she said. "He was interested in anything that was old, Mr. Benedict. He collected antique books, was fascinated by old naval vessels, and he belonged to the Talino Society."
Bingo. "And what," I asked eagerly, "is the Talino Society?"
She looked steadily at me. "I don’t think this is getting us anywhere."
"Please," I said. "You’re already been of some help. Tell me about the Talino Society. I’ve never heard of it."
"A drinking club, really. They masquerade as historians, but mostly what they do is go down there—they meet on the final week-night of each month at the Collandium—and they have a good time." She looked very tired. "He was a member for twenty years."
"Did you belong?"
"Yes, I usually went with him."
"Why was it called the Talino' Society?"
She smiled. Finally. "Mr. Benedict, you’ll want to go down there and find out for yourself."
Two other things happened on the day I talked to Jana Khyber. Brimbury & Conn sent a statement of my assets. There was considerably more than I’d suspected, and I realized that I would never have to work again. Not ever. Oddly, I felt guilty about that. It was, after all, Gabe’s money. And I had been less than gentle with him.
The other piece of news was the Jacob discovered a library halfway around the world that had a copy of Leisha Tanner’s Notebooks. He promptly requested a transmission, and it arrived by lunchtime.
I’d been receiving calls all along from assorted thieves and bunkum artists purporting to have been business associates of my uncle, and wanting to "continue" rendering some high-priced service or other. There were wine brokers, realtors, an individual who described himself as a foundation attempting to erect monuments to prominent business executives, and several portfolio managers. And so on. I’d expected them to trail off, but they were becoming more, rather than less, frequent.
"From now on," I told Jacob, "they are yours. Put them off. Discourage them."
"How?"
"Use your imagination. Tell them we’re contributing the money to a worthy cause, make one up, and that I’m retiring to a mountain-top."
Then I settled in with Leisha Tanner.
The Notebooks cover five years during which she was an instructor at the University of Khaja Luan on the world of that name. The first entries are dated from about the time she met the poet Walford Candles, and the last conclude with her resignation, in the third year of the Resistance. They were originally intended to be remarks on the progress of her students; but with the beginnings of tension on Imarios, the subsequent revolt, and Cormorals catastrophic intervention, they widen into a graphic portrayal of social and political upheaval on a small world which was struggling to maintain its neutrality, and thereby its survival, at a time when Christopher Sim and his band of heroes needed every assistance.
Some of the portraits are unsettling. We’re accustomed to thinking of those who actively opposed the onslaught of the Ashiyyur as patriots: valiant men and women who risked life and fortune across a hundred worlds to persuade reluctant governments to intervene during the crisis. But here is Tanner on the reaction to the mute assault against the City on the Crag:
Downtown today, speaker after speaker blasted the government and urged immediate intervention. There were some from the University, even old Angus Markham, whom I’ve never before seen angry. They were joined by some out-of-power politicians, and some entertainers, who seriously believe we ought to send off the entire fleet to make war on the Ashiyyur. I read yesterday that the "fleet" consists of two destroyers and one frigate. One of the destroyers is undergoing major repairs, and all three vessels are obsolete.
There were others present whom I took to be members of the Friends of the Confederacy. They stirred up the mob, which in turn clubbed a few people who didn’t share their point of view, and probably a couple who did but didn’t move quickly enough. Then they set off across town to march on the Council chambers. But Grenville Park is a long walk from Balister Avenue, and along the way they overturned some vehicles, attacked the police, and broke into a few bars.
A patriot is someone who’s prepared to sacrifice anything, even other people’s children, for a just cause.
Damn Sim anyhow! The war goes on and on, and everyone knows it’s futile. There’s a rumor that the Ashiyyur have asked us for the Amorda. For God’s sake, I hope the Council is wise enough to comply.
I looked up Amorda. It was a guarantee of peace and autonomy to anyone who would accept Ashiyyurean suzerainty. I was surprised to discover that, for every human world that joined the Resistance, two remained neutral. A few even threw their support to the invaders.
The Amorda. It was a simple offering: a few cubic centimeters of earth from one’s capital, encased in an urn of pure silver, signifying fidelity.
I scrolled ahead: while the Council debated its action, the hour struck for the City on the Crag. The Ashiyyur destroyed her defenses, and her orbiting factories. That center of culture, the long-time symbol of literature, democracy, and progress along the Frontier, was occupied at leisure. It’s a blunder of incredible dimensions, wrote Tanner. One almost wonders whether the Ashiyyur are deliberately trying to create the conditions for Tarien Sim to complete his alliance against them. In any case, the moment for the government of Khaja Luan to declare its neutrality, if indeed it ever existed at all has passed. We will join the war. The only issue now is when.
The attack is a surprise to no one. The City on the Crag, and her small group of allies, was technically neutral but it was no secret that her volunteers have been fighting actively with the Dellacondans. It’s also common knowledge that Sim has been getting strategic supplies from her orbiting factories. The Ashiyyur were justified; but I wish they could have shown some restraint. This may be enough to bring Earth or Rimway into the war. If that happens, God knows where it will end.