“You think they might have had names in Zorbas’s time?”
“Yes. Chase, everything starts out with names. Planets, stars, galaxies, whatever.”
“Have you been able to confirm that about the asteroids?”
“Not yet. I’ve talked with people in several science and history departments. Everybody agrees that it must have been true, but nobody knows for certain.”
“You think that’s where Zorbas put everything? On an asteroid?”
“Where would you find a more secure location at a time when the entire planet was collapsing?”
“Linda Talbott got you thinking this way, didn’t she?”
“That’s a pretty remote place she has. But sure. If I had access to an asteroid and something I wanted to hide—It seems so obvious now I wonder how I didn’t think of it.” In fact, I had, but I let it pass.
“So how do we find it among millions of asteroids? You think there’s a listing somewhere?”
“If there is one that Zorbas used, Baylee must have found it. So, yes, I think there’s a good chance there’s a record, something that will identify the asteroids by name.”
“Where do we look? We’ve already searched the internets here and on Earth for anything named Larissa. Do we start checking internets around the Confederacy? That could take a while.”
“I think there’s a better way.”
“And what’s that?”
“Chase, you work for a company that services collectors. I’d be surprised if we can’t find a book in someone’s collection that wouldn’t provide the answer.”
Hardcover books remain popular items. Nothing shows off one’s intellectual prowess more effectively than a case full of classic novels and histories in a living room where they are visible to all. I sent a message out to everyone we knew who had a collection. That included a considerable majority of our clients. If one is interested in a piece of dinnerware once owned by Margo LaQuerta, we can be certain that her midnight comedies, in two volumes, rests on a shelf nearby.
The message read as follows:
Dear Mr.———:
We are currently conducting a search for any historical or scientific book that might provide a detailed description of Earth’s solar system as it would have been perceived during the Third and Fourth Millennia. Please notify us if you have such a volume and would be willing to let us examine it.
Yours,
Alex Benedict
I showed it to Alex, who suggested I remove his last name. “Keep it informal,” he said. And also he directed me to delete everything in the last sentence after volume, and finish the request with Thank you for your assistance.
We didn’t specify what we were looking for. We knew our clients too well. If a Larissa asteroid did exist, half of them would have somebody out within a few days looking for it.
I sent the message to over a hundred clients and had several replies before I could tell him it was gone.
We handled it by asking each respondent to show us the contents page and the index. We searched the index for asteroid and Larissa and anything else that might be suggestive. Most of them listed Larissa, but were referring to the Neptunian moon. Over the first few days, that was all we saw.
The media, meantime, were filled for days with stories about the rescue effort, interviews with everyone involved, and reports of parties thrown by the families who had gotten someone back, and even by a few who were simply grateful for the confirmation that everyone on the Capella was actually alive. Politicians made speeches and promises. A few people criticized John for not doing everything he could to have Robert Dyke pull the trigger.
Fairly typical, I thought, was an appearance on Charlie Koeffler’s show by one of the families we’d seen taken off by the Mutes. Karl Dunn and his wife Arlene had planned a ride to the stars with their two kids, Laurie and Jack. “And here we are,” said Arlene. “We were only out there a few days, and they’re telling us it’s 1435.”
Laurie, who was about eight, with a huge smile and curly brown hair, could not stop laughing. “We’re time travelers,” she said.
Jack was two or three years older. He had a question for Koeffler: “We heard they can turn the ship around, and we can ride back to where we came from. Back to 1424. Do you think that’s true?”
Koeffler laughed. “I don’t think it works in both directions.”
“So,” Jack continued, “Allie’s about twenty-two?”
Karl smiled and nodded. “Allie is Jack’s best friend.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Koeffler.
“But that means he’s old,” said Jack.
All three adults got a laugh out of that. But Jack looked seriously unhappy. “I’ve lost him.”
The shadow of 1440, when the real rescue would occur, hung over the shows. Serge Lebouef, on Jennifer in the Morning, was shattered by what had happened to his wife, Carmela. Carmela had been one of the two crew members who had stayed with the lifeboat packages and been swept along when the Capella was taken down. “Five years is a long time to be without her,” he said. “But I understand why she did it. And I’m proud of her.”
“Your wife’s a hero, Serge,” said Jennifer. “And the experts all agree that they should be able to recover her. That she is probably now on board the Capella.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sure she’s all right. Listen, Jennifer, I wasn’t surprised by what she did. To be honest, it was the reason I hoped the Randall wouldn’t get close to everything. I know how this sounds, but—” He stopped, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and swallowed whatever he’d planned to say.
He’d brought images along, and we watched him and Carmela at the eighth-grade graduation of their daughter. We saw them on the beach, saw them strolling through Brockman Park, saw them overseeing their daughter while she played on a swing. “She’ll have to do a lot of growing up without her mom,” he said.
George Talbott was, as anticipated, not among the few who’d been rescued. But Linda had thrown the party anyway, providing transportation out to her asteroid home for any who wanted it. Alex had asked me to go while he attended a conference he couldn’t skip because he was guest of honor.
Approximately thirty people were in attendance. Half arrived in Linda’s vehicle. I came with them, since I was not excited about riding in an empty ship again. She launched the party by introducing George’s avatar, who proceeded to thank everyone for coming, then showcased the Weinstein chair. Had it stopped there, things would have been okay, but the avatar began talking about how in just five years the real George would arrive, and we could have a serious celebration. He kept going on like that, and some of us got uncomfortable. Five years, I suspected, was not a long time for an avatar. But George’s parents were present, and neither one looked like a good bet to make it to the follow-up event.