“I’m just sorry it’s happening.”
“Has Alex said anything to you?”
“No.”
“I want you to know that whatever happens next, you’ll always have a job with me if you want it.”
“Thank you, Gabe. I’m not happy with the thought of you guys going in opposite directions.”
“Neither am I.” He was staring out at the trees. Or birds. Or something.
We climbed out and went inside the retirement home, where we were greeted by a young man who might easily have been a college student. He wore a jacket and tie. A button in his lapel identified him as an intern at Gracia. “My name is George,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
We identified ourselves. He checked his log and told us everything was set up. He called in an even younger man, also wearing a Gracia pin. “These are the people, Harvey,” he said. “You know where to take them, right?”
“I think so,” he said.
George explained. Straight to the court, in through the front door, second room on the left.
We followed Harvey across the parking lot and into the courthouse. The second door on the left opened into an empty office. We sat down in armchairs. After about five minutes, a short bored-looking guy with white hair entered, checked our IDs, sighed, and dismissed Harvey. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m buried today. I can only give you fifteen minutes.”
“That should be fine,” said Gabe.
Then he raised his voice, as people routinely do when talking to an AI. “Bart?”
A voice responded:
“Would you please let Sandy know that her guests are here?”
Michael turned in our direction: “Can I get you some water? Or iced tea?”
We both passed.
Then a female voice spoke:
Gabe leaned forward in his chair. “You were operational at one time in Rick Harding’s . Do I have that correct?”
“I assume you know he’s deceased?”
“When he died, he had possession of a silver trophy with an inscription no one could translate. Are you at all familiar with it? Did you ever see it?”
Somewhere in the distance I could hear kids shouting. Then cheering. Sandy replied:
“Explain please.”
“May I ask the source of the directive?”
“The question only has one aspect, Sandy: the trophy. Is that what you are prohibited to talk about?”
“So far, you haven’t commented at all.”
After a few moments, I was listening again to the children outside.
“Sandy?” said Gabe.
We got nothing.
I glanced over at Michael. He shrugged. “Sandy,” Gabe said, “you understand that the existence of that trophy suggests that, during his travels, Rick came across either a living civilization or possibly an archeological find of major significance.”
said Sandy.
Michael let us see that he was uncomfortable, but he said nothing.
“It appears,” said Gabe, “that Rick came into possession of the trophy while you were with him. Can you at least confirm that?”
Sandy did not respond. We sat in our chairs and looked at each other. Another burst of cheers came from outside. Finally Michael got up and apologized. He told us this wasn’t the first time an AI had refused to respond to visitors. “In fact,” he said, “it happens a lot. They pick up personal information that they’ve promised not to reveal. They’re good at it.”
“You ever see one of them change its mind?”
“No. Apparently you can trust them. They keep their promises.”
XVI.
.
We were approaching Andiquar when Jacob called. he said.
Gabe looked surprised. “I didn’t expect they’d take me seriously enough to answer. Jacob, let’s see it.”
I hadn’t been aware he’d tried to contact the Oceanside. I’d assumed it might happen, but probably only as a last resort. I thought we were in agreement, though we’d never really discussed it, that we should first talk to everyone we could find who’d known Harding before we started looking offworld. A couple of hours earlier Sandy had by far seemed like our best bet.
I put it on the display:
Professor Benedict, we are all puzzled by your questions. Several of us knew Rick Harding. He seemed to be competent and reasonable, never a man we would have expected to cause problems or make up wild stories. I should add that we were sorry to hear of his passing. We had not seen him for years, but nevertheless several of us felt we had lost a friend.
Which brings us to the silver trophy with the odd text. Let me begin by stating that Oceanside has never conducted a ceremony or given out souvenirs such as the one you describe. I consulted with Bent Hackett, who was the hotel manager during the years when Rick was among the pilots who were bringing in customers. I should add that the pilots usually stayed at least one night themselves. At our expense, by the way. So we got to know them fairly well.
The sort of practice you describe would have gained nothing for us, and would have been deemed laughable. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but it’s clear that the account you have is fiction. If I can be of additional assistance, do not hesitate to contact me.
Harley Kelp, Manager, Oceanside Hotel
“That’s not very helpful,” I said.
“Sure it is. Now we know Harding hiding something.”
We sat quietly for a few minutes staring down at the countryside. It was early evening and the first lights were coming on. Andiquar looked especially tranquil and inviting that night. It was a place I wanted to keep close. To embrace. I wondered about Charlotte. Why would a beautiful and brilliant young woman leave it to spend two years sealed in a narrow container orbiting a black hole? Even if she might become part of a major discovery, it was a high price to pay.
Gabe signaled he was done with the message so I switched it off. “What do you think, Chase?” he asked finally.