“You were there?” said Alex. “I thought I recognized you. And yes, it’s possible. But we don’t know.”
“You have any evidence?”
“Nothing I’m prepared to talk about.”
Boardman nodded. “I don’t think it happened. Tuttle would never have sat on that kind of discovery.”
“How well did your father know him?”
“They socialized occasionally. Even shared a mission back in the seventies. My dad knew him up until the very end. You know about the boat accident?”
“Yes.”
“My father had lunch with him that day before he went out. His last meal, I guess.”
“And Tuttle never said anything—?”
“Not that I know of. Hell, if my father had heard him talk about finding something, he’d have had a heart attack.”
That same afternoon, we got another call, this one from an ancient, somber man sitting in a large armchair in a room with a blazing fireplace. “My name is Edwin Holverson,” he said. “May I speak with Mr. Benedict, please?”
“He’s with a client, Mr. Holverson. My name’s Kolpath. May I help you?”
“Are you his secretary?”
“I’m a staff assistant, sir.”
“I wanted to talk to him. Would you have him call me when he becomes available?”
“If you like, certainly. May I tell him what it’s about?”
“Sunset Tuttle. I understand Mr. Benedict is interested in him.”
“That’s correct. We’re doing some documentary work.”
“You are? May I ask why you and he are interested in a man who’s been dead a quarter century?”
“I told you. We’re doing research.”
“Research for what?”
“A history of Survey.”
“I see. I hope you’re not going to laugh at him.”
“Of course not.”
His eyes narrowed. “Or offer your sympathy.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Come on, Ms.—? What did you say your name was?”
“Kolpath.”
“Ms. Kolpath, please don’t play dumb with me.” He leaned forward and gripped the chair arms as if he were accelerating.
“I don’t think I’m following the conversation.”
“Okay. Why don’t you tell me where you’re headed? What were you planning to say about Sunset?”
“What did you expect us to say?”
“I’ll tell you what you should say: That he was persistent in his efforts to make contact. That he represented the spirit of the men and women who, since Ito, have moved out into the galaxy, and who’ve kept going in the face of thousands of years of almost unbroken discouragement.”
“I think that’s pretty close to our reading of the man,” I said.
“Good. I’m glad there are still some people around who understand.” He looked at me, tilted his head, and somehow managed to signal that he was one of the heroes he’d just described.
“You knew Tuttle,” I said.
“Yes. Other than my wife, God rest her soul, he was the closest friend I had.”
“Did you ever do joint missions with him?”
“Oh, yes. A few times. But we knew we could cover more ground by separating.” He began to describe some of the flights, the long weeks and months it took to reach their destinations with the technology in use during the early years of the century. The living worlds with white clouds and blue oceans. With herds of creatures running across vast plains. Giant lizards, big enough to be visible from orbit. And magnificent forests spread across continents warmed by a stable sun. “But we never saw the lights,” he said.
“The lights?”
“When we approached a living world, we listened for electromagnetic activity. A burp on the radio. A conversation of some sort. Or a concerto, maybe. A voice. Something. God help us, what we would not have given to hear a voice.
“When that failed—It always failed, of course. When that failed, we went to the nightside, looking for lights. Sometimes they were there. A fire, started by a lightning strike. Or some other natural event. But what we wanted was to find a city glowing in the dark. A city—” He stopped, and laughed. It was a bitter sound. “One lighted window. Somewhere. It was all we asked. A single lantern, hanging in the night.
“Seventy years I was out there. Almost eighty, actually. Almost as long as Sunset.” He took a deep breath. “But neither of us ever saw it. Never saw anything.”
“If you’d found something, found the lantern, what would you have done?”
“First thing: I’d have gotten in touch with Sunset. I’d have let him know. Then we’d have made an announcement.”
“We?”
“Oh, yes. We’d have been together when we told them.” His voice trembled.
“You’re suggesting he would have done the same thing?”
“Yes. Certainly. We were in it together.”
“Okay.”
“The reason I called—”
“Yes?”
“I had a call from him just a few days before he died. He invited me to go out on that boat ride, the one where he lost his life? It was the last time I heard from him.”
“Lucky you didn’t go.”
“I’m not big on boats. Never did like the damned things. But, anyhow, he said something odd.”
“What was that?”
His eyes squeezed shut and his voice trembled. “ ‘Ed,’ he said. ‘I came close. I really thought we had them.’”
“He was talking about aliens?”
“Yes. I knew from the way he said it. But then the conversation got strange.”
“In what way?”
“He wouldn’t talk about it anymore. I mean, what’s the big secret if he almost found them? But he just said he was sorry he’d said anything and told me to forget it.”
“And you never figured out what he was talking about?”
“No. But there was something going on.”
I showed him the tablet. “Ever see this before?”
“No,” he said. “What is it?”
“It belonged to Sunset. More than that, we don’t know. Let me ask one more question: You must have known Hugh Conover?”
“Sure. We were friends.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
He shook his head. “No idea. I haven’t heard from him in ages.”
When Alex got in, I told him Holverson wanted him to call.
“Who’s Holverson? Do you know what it’s about?”
“It’s about Tuttle.”
“Really? What did he have to say?”
“Best you hear for yourself.”
“Oh,” he said. “One of those, huh?”
He went up to his office. Twenty minutes later he came down and, without saying anything about the conversation, asked if I had plans for dinner.
We went to Mully’s Top of the World. On the way out, we talked about some antiques from the Marovian period that had just become available. A host showed us to our table. We ordered and made small talk until the drinks arrived. Then, finally, he asked my reaction to Holverson.