“On the off chance that the tablet’s not in the river, but that you’re reluctant to reveal that, I’d like to make an offer. Find it for me, just so that I can get a look at it, not keep it, just look, and I’ll make it well worth your while.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. It’s in the river. Like we said.”
“And I’ll keep your name out of it. Nobody will ever know.”
“Alex, if I could help, I would.”
“Okay. The offer won’t stay open forever.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, man.”
“We’ll want to sit down with Rachel,” Alex said. “But first I’d like to find out more about Tuttle.”
He’d had a younger brother. His name was Henry, and it had taken us a while to get to him because he was a government employee temporarily assigned in the Korbel Islands.
“It’s all right, Henry,” Alex said. We’d gotten through to him at his hotel. “Anything you tell us will go no further.”
Henry could hardly have been more different from the Sunset Tuttle we’d seen in the holo. He was big, with wide shoulders and tranquil brown eyes. A man completely at peace with himself. It took a while. He talked about his brother’s career as if it had been inordinately successful, and how it was inevitable they’d drift apart. Henry had married early and moved away, and they hadn’t stayed in touch. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d stayed across the road,” he said. “Som was never here.” “Som” was the name he used throughout the conversation. “He was always off somewhere. He couldn’t help it, you know. I mean, it was what he did.”
Eventually, he got to the point: “What can I say? I guess I never really felt welcome in his presence. So I just didn’t like spending time with him. The only thing he ever talked about was himself. He’d go on about where he’d been since the last time I’d seen him, and where he was going next time. He never once asked me about what I do. Or what I cared about. Even after he retired, he couldn’t talk about anything else—And toward the end, he got discouraged. Couldn’t find the gremlins.”
“I guess that can wear on you after a while.”
“Yeah, by the time he quit he was burned out.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. Look, Mr. Benedict, you have to understand: I never saw much of my brother. Not after I left home.”
“And after he retired, nothing changed?”
“He didn’t live long after that. Two or three years, I guess. But yes, it was still all about him. Listen, I write economic analyses for the Treasury Department. I’ve been a journalist, and I’ve written a couple of books about economics. I mean, I’ve had a pretty decent career. Not like what he did. But I’ve won some awards. We never talked about it, though. Never talked about what I was doing. Not ever.”
We showed him pictures of the tablet. “Do these ring a bell?”
“No,” he said. “I never saw the damned thing. What is it anyhow?”
“Henry,” said Alex, “I assume you know Rachel Bannister.”
“Yes. I met her once or twice. She was a friend of my brother’s.” He smiled. “Beautiful woman.”
“Did you know she worked for World’s End?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me anything more about her? She’s a licensed pilot, but she doesn’t seem to be doing any off-world work.”
“I haven’t really seen her for a long time, Alex.”
“You don’t know anything about her?”
“Other than that she used to run around with Som, no.”
“She did tours at World’s End.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Are you aware of anything unusual happening to her while she was there? Anything on one of the flights?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Well—”
“Yes, Henry?”
“It’s nothing really. I remember hearing that she’d quit after one of the tours. Came home and quit. I don’t know why. If I ever knew, I don’t remember. I don’t even remember who told me, though it was probably Som.”
“Okay. One more question, then we’ll get out of your way, Henry. Do you know Hugh Conover?”
“I know of him.”
“But you never met him?”
“Not that I can recall. He was an archeologist or something.”
“An anthropologist, I believe. I don’t guess you have any idea how we might reach him?”
“I don’t know. Try the directory?”
Robin Simmons called that night to ask if we could meet for lunch the next day. I liked Robin, and I said sure, thereby saving my life. And Alex’s.
Robin had started as a lawyer but decided somewhere along the line he preferred kids and classrooms. High-school level, where, he said, minds were still open. (“At least some of them.”) So he now taught courses in politics and history at Mount Kira. When people asked why he’d given up his legal career to teach, he claimed it was because the money’s better.
He had brown hair and brown eyes. He approached life casually and was a guy who would have been indistinguishable in a crowd, I guess, until you got to know him. But he was bright, and he had a sense of humor. I was beginning to think that I’d miss him if he went away.
I spent the morning doing routine stuff. Alex was working upstairs. At about eleven, Jacob announced that Expressway had arrived with a package.
Jack Napier was the local delivery guy. He came in with a box, something about the right size for a very long pair of shoes. He set it down on a side table, I signed for it, and he left.
The package carried a return address for Baylor Purchasing, which told me nothing. It had been sent to Rainbow, attention Alex Benedict. I left it where it was and went back to work.
A little while later, a car pulled into the driveway. Robin in his svelte black-and-white Falcon. Time to go. I looked at the package. Part of my job was to go through the mail and get rid of anything that didn’t really demand his attention. So I opened it.
It contained a pagoda. A label described it as a “genuine replica of the Ashantay Pagoda.” I wasn’t sure what a genuine replica was, but the thing was made of smooth black metal. It was gorgeous. The base had tiny windows and a doorway. Six balconies rose above it, with pent roofs, capped by a finial. There was an accompanying pamphlet: Congratulations, it said. You now own the Baylor prize-winning all-purpose air purifier. Operate as directed and be assured the air you breathe will be the freshest, purest that—
I took it out of the box and set it on my desk. But the moment it touched the wood, it activated. Lights came on in the windows, and I felt energy begin to pulse through it.
In fact, the interior, from the base to the top of the finial, lit up. The lights began to dim and brighten. The process accelerated into a chaotic display.
My head began to spin. And I was sucking in air. Then not sucking in air. My heart began to pound, and the office walls faded.
“Chase,” said Jacob. “Robin has arrived.”
I remember thinking about an exercise during training in which a virtual hole was punched into a ship by a meteor. Air rushes out. Tries to suck you along with it. What do you do?