"Yes," I said. "Probably." Meaning, of course, no.
She nodded, understanding.
"How about dinner instead?" I asked. "Maybe tomorrow evening?"
"Yes," she said. "I’d like that." We settled the details, and I moved on.
I found a few people who had known John Khyber. They liked him. But there seemed nothing extraordinary about the man, at least nothing that would have drawn Gabe’s interest. Only one or two seemed to be aware that he was dead.
The Talino Society maintained a Trophy Room which was a permanent feature (and curiosity) of the Collandium. It opened off one of the conference areas, and was filled with visitors when I strolled into it.
It was dominated by exquisite matched portraits of Talino and Christopher Sim. Certificates and plaques were mounted on the walls. They were awards to persons whom I assumed were members, citing various achievements in scholarship: forays into naval tactics at Grand Salinas, analyses of Ashiyyurean psychology as it affected the attack on Point Edward, the publication of a collection of aphorisms attributed to Tarien Sim, and so on. I wondered how much was real, and how much was part of the illusion.
There were also photos of men and women in the light and dark blue uniforms of the early Confederacy; portraits of staid, middle-aged types who were among the founders of the Society; and a large platinum cup which had been awarded to a Society-sponsored kids' ramble team.
There were other trophies, some decorated with gleaming frigates or sunbursts. One particularly prominent silver plaque featured a black harridan. Some sixty names were engraved on it, outstanding members of the Talino Society, one chosen each year.
The Trophy Room included a data bank and two terminals. I waited until one became accessible, and then sat down. It was an offline system, of course, linked to data banks elsewhere in the building, but not tied in with the general net. Input was either verbal or by keyboard; responses were posted on the display. I brought up the menu, opened a channel to "Archives," entered "John Khyber," and requested available biographical information. There wasn’t much:
KHYBER, JOHN
CODE 367L441
His name, and the number by which he could be reached on the net. I asked for duties performed with the Talino Society. The unit responded:
CHAIRMAN, FINANCE COMMITTEE 1409-10
MEMBER, MEMBERSHIP COMMITTEE 1406-08
MEMBER, MATERIEL SURVEY COMMITTEE 1411-12
NAVAL ADVISOR, SIMULGROUP, RIGEL 1407
MASTER OF CEREMONIES, NUMEROUS OCCASIONS, 1407-PRESENT
DO YOU WISH DETAILS?
"No. Has he ever spoken at the meetings?"
YES. DO YOU WISH DETAILS?
"Yes. Titles of addresses, please."
TRIAL AND ERROR AT IMARIOS: CORMORAL REACTS
3I31I02
BATTLE CHARACTERISTICS OF CORMORAL’S CRUISERS
4I27I04
THE TWILIGHT WAR: THE FRIGATE COMES OF AGE
13I30I07
ALCOHOL AND THE ASHIYYUR
5I29I08
THE DANCING GIRLS AT ABONAI LOSE THE WAR
8I33I11
SMALL FORCE TACTICS: SIM AT ESCHAT’ON
10I28I13
THE GUERRILLAS COME TO STAY: SIM AT SANUSAR
11I29I13
ROOTS OF VICTORY: DELLACONDAN CRYPTOLOGY
3I31I14
PRINT COPIES ARE AVAILABLE.
"Please provide copies of everything."
I listened to the barely audible whirr of the printer, which was concealed in a cabinet beneath the terminal. I’d come here hoping that somewhere I’d find the reason Khyber was riding with Gabe. But, in this morass of game-playing, what was it possible to believe? "Computer," I said, "has Gabriel Benedict ever been here?" PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THE COMINGS AND GOINGS OF THE GENERAL MEMBERSHIP, AND OF THEIR GUESTS, IS NOT RECORDED. HOWEVER, THERE IS ONE KNOWN OCCASION ON WHICH GABRIEL BENEDICT ATTENDED A MONTHLY MEETING.
"When was that?"
THE FIRST MEETING OF THIS YEAR, PRIMA 30.
"Was he alone?" NO DATA.
"Was Khyber here the same night?" NO DATA.
I thought it over. What did I want to know? "Did Mr. Benedict speak? To the group, that is?" NO.
There must have been something special about that one meeting. "May I see the program for the evening?"
403RD MEETING OF THE LUDIK TALINO SOCIETY
PRIMA 30, 1414
2000 HOURS
GUEST SPEAKER: LISA PAROT
"CONSPIRACY: WAS SIM MURDERED BY CONSPIRATORS PRIOR TO RIGEL?"
FEATURED SPEAKER: DR. ARDMOR KAIL
"A PSYCHOLOGIST LOOKS AT THE TALINO RECORDINGS."
DINNER: VEAL MARCHAND
TEMERE SALAD
VEGETABLES
Something I’d overlooked occurred to me. "You said that attendance at these sessions is not routinely recorded."
THAT IS CORRECT.
"How do you happen to know that Gabriel Benedict was here on Prima 30?"
BECAUSE HE CONSULTED ME.
Ah! "About what?"
TWO ITEMS. HE WISHED INFORMATION CONCERNING JOHN KHYBER’S BACKGROUND.
"Did he see anything on that subject that you have not shown me?"
NO.
"What was the other item?"
HE REQUESTED A COPY OF AN ADDRESS GIVEN TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO.
"Please provide a copy of the address."
A single page dropped into the tray. I picked it up and read through it.
It was hard to see a reason for Gabe’s interest. This one was little more than a diatribe. "(Talino) has been betrayed by history," the speaker said, "and I am happy that there are still some who care about the truth. Time may prove you correct. Talino, and indeed his unfortunate comrades, are victims of a set of circumstances which took from them something far worse than their lives. I know of no similar miscarriage of justice in all the ages. And I wonder whether we’ll ever succeed in correcting the record."
That was really the essence of the speaker’s remarks. He said it several different ways, he laced it with redundancies, and he poured on the dramatics. Why was Gabe interested in it?
I stopped puzzling when I saw the name of the speaker. It was Hugh Scott.
IX.
(Human) interstellar polities are, by their nature, transitory. They are accidents, a kind of St. Elmo’s fire ignited by economic upheaval, outside threat, or perhaps the charisma of an ideologue. When the night has passed, and normal conditions return, they flicker and vanish. No civilization devised by us can hope to stretch across the stars.
I’D NEVER READ Man and Olympian. Like probably every other kid in the Confederacy, I’d been exposed to it by the schools. And I can remember struggling through the chapter on Socrates for a college history class. But I’d never really read the book.
There was a bound copy on one of the shelves in Gabe’s bedroom. (I didn’t sleep there myself. I was using a room in the back of the house on the second floor.)
On the way home from the Talino Society meeting, I decided it was time to look at Sim’s classic again.
It’s one of the standard works, of course: a history of the Hellenic Age, from the Persian wars to the death of Alexander. My assumption had always been that it owed its reputation to the fame of its author rather than to any innate value; but that was a prejudice grounded on a child’s collision with a serious book.
I opened it approximately in the middle and read in both directions, expecting, I suppose, quiet excursions into Greek philosophy, and a tired rehashing of the Persian and Peloponnesian wars.
What I got instead was volcanic energy, sulphurous opinions, and sheer brilliance. One does not drift leisurely through a few political analyses, or stare at a few arrows on a battle map. Not with Sim. The statesmen in his book pound tables; one can smell the Mediterranean and the planks of the Athenian triremes. And the terrible issues of freedom and order, of mortality and the spirit, are achingly alive.