When Alex came downstairs, I asked whether he’d seen the show.
“No,” he said. “Why?”
“Your buddy was on.”
“Which one?”
“Kolchevsky.”
Alex immediately looked weary.
“No,” I said, “he was okay. In fact, he gave you credit for finding the Capella.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Cross my heart.”
“All right. Good. Remind me to send him a Christmas card this year.”
One of the panel shows, Four Aces, spent time discussing whether they shouldn’t go ahead with manipulating the drive unit to prevent the Capella from disappearing again. They seldom agreed on anything. But on this occasion, they’d obviously heard about JoAnn’s experiment. And they were united in opposing any effort to manipulate the star drive. “They got lucky with the yacht, they admit that, and they’re saying there’s no way to be sure what would happen if they start playing around with the Capella. So if that’s the case, why would anyone want to take chances with the lives of twenty-six hundred people?”
Shortly after that, Casmir Kolchevsky went missing. I saw the first report on the morning news two days later. Jennifer brought in Jeri Paxton, an anthropologist and a friend of Kolchevsky’s to talk about it. Jeri was probably well into her second century, but she retained much of the vigor of youth. “The only thing I know, Jen,” she said, “was that his AI became concerned when he didn’t come home for two consecutive nights. Drill—that’s the AI, and don’t ask about the name—called police. As of now, we just have no idea what happened to him.”
“Have you ever heard of his doing something like this before?”
“No, I haven’t. Casmir has always lived by an orderly schedule. I had a chance to talk with Drill last night. He says this is a completely new experience.”
“So there’s reason to be worried.”
“I’m afraid so, yes. And I’ll tell you, Casmir seems to some people to have a rough edge, but he’s really one of the kindest, gentlest men I know. He’s one of a kind, Jennifer. I really hope, wherever he is, that he’s okay. If you can hear me out there, Cas, call. Please.”
The rational thing to do would have been to leave it to the police to find him. But Alex has never been willing to stay out of this type of affair. “I’m surprised,” he told me, “that he has no avatar. Guy like that, with that immense ego, you’d expect there’d be one to represent his various contributions to research and tell us about his awards. But there’s nothing.”
“Why were you looking?”
“He’s disappeared, Chase. Or didn’t you notice?”
I ignored the question. “I remember his talking about it one time. The avatar, that is.”
“Where was that?”
“Give me a minute.” I did a quick search and came up with a three-year-old episode of The Charles Koeffler Show. Koeffler notes that Kolchevsky has no avatar, and that it would be easier for hosts to prepare better programing if one were available.
“Most people,” the host said, “especially those who are well-known, maintain an online presence. I wonder, could you—?”
“Of course they do, Charles.” Kolchevsky’s smile revealed that he was tolerant of his host’s lack of insight. “Some of us, most of us, I guess, feel a need to establish that we matter. That we leave a mark. But putting a babbling version of yourself out there for every idiot to talk to doesn’t get the job done. In fact, all it does accomplish is to waste time.” Koeffler looked about to jump in, but Kolchevsky waved him off. “I’m not saying everyone who puts a version of himself online is an idiot, Charles. What I am saying is that our time is limited. If we really want to accomplish something, then by God we should do it. And stop the posturing.”
“Are you saying you’ve never had an avatar?”
He snorted. “When I was sixteen, I had one. The girls all laughed at it.” He sat back, amused at the recollection as the mood lightened. “There was one girl in particular whom I just loved. In the way that only a sixteen-year-old can. She told me that she could go for the avatar and wished I were more like him.”
“So you took it down?”
“Charles, do you have one of those things?”
Koeffler turned it into a joke without answering, and they went to another subject.
Alex shook his head. “If you’re in business,” he said, “you have to have one of those things.”
I couldn’t resist laughing. Alex was also amused. “I wonder,” he said, “what happened to him? To Kolchevsky.”
“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”
“Well, I suspect he’s made a few enemies.”
“You don’t think somebody actually took him down, do you?”
“No, not really. The people he usually went after weren’t the type to resort to violence.”
“So what do you think?”
“I’ve no idea. For all we know, he might have fallen into the Melony. But that probably didn’t happen or we’d have gotten a pollution problem.”
“Alex—”
“Okay, I’ll stop. Let me know if you hear anything. If anybody calls, tell them to check with our clients. He might be out berating one of them.” He checked the time. “Have to go,” he said. “Got an auction.”
He rarely brought anything of value back from the auctions, but it happened occasionally. And business was slow. He’d been gone about an hour when we got a call from Fenn Redfield, the police inspector. “Hi, Chase,” he said. “Is Alex there?”
“He’s downtown on business, Fenn. Can I help you?”
“You know that Kolchevsky’s gone missing?”
“Yes. Is Alex a suspect?” I couldn’t resist myself.
“Not yet,” he said. “Kolchevsky seems to have just walked off the planet. We’re talking to everybody we know who had any kind of connection with him. I’m hoping Alex might have an idea where he could have gone.”
“If he did, Fenn, he wasn’t telling me about it. But I’ll put you through to him. Hold on a second.”
That evening, I closed the office and headed for dinner with friends. Afterward, we went to a concert, drank a little too much, and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Later, when I got home, I felt moderately guilty for having a good time while Kolchevsky was maybe dying somewhere. I don’t know why that was. I had no more affection for the guy than Alex did. Still, I guess, when people get in trouble, you forget about the kind of treatment you’ve received from them.
He’d lectured me a couple of times, and hadn’t been the only one to warn me that one day I’d regret helping Alex loot the past. That was actually the way he’d phrased it.
I don’t know. Sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about the operation we run. I understand that it would be nice if all these artifacts were placed where anyone could see them. But I’ve also seen the pure joy that accompanies ownership. I’ve watched older people, who’ve achieved pretty much everything you could ask from life, just light up when Alex delivered an artifact they’d been pursuing. Especially one touched, or used, by an historical figure. It’s not the same as being able to stand in a museum and admire something in a glass case. It has to do with owning the thing. With being able to take Byrum Corble’s link—the little silver one shaped like a dragon—being able to take it home and put it on display over the mantel.