The common wisdom was that something had gone wrong and the colony had perished. Some thought that Margolia, over the ages, might have sidestepped the various bumps and reversals suffered by the mainline civilization, and moved so far ahead of it that they would not be interested in communicating with us. Me, I thought the common wisdom had it right.
Margolia had been the subject of several sims. Jacob showed me one. It was titled Invader, and had been produced less than a year earlier. In it, the hero discovers that Margolians have returned quietly to the Confederacy. They are highly advanced, they walk unrecognized among us, and they actually control the machinery of government.
They consider ordinary humans to be inferior and are planning a takeover. When the protagonist tries to warn the authorities, his girlfriend disappears, people begin dying, and there are lots of chases down dark alleys and through the corridors of an abandoned space station. The plot dissolves into a major shoot-out at the end, the young lady is rescued, and the good people of the Confederacy are alerted.
No one ever explained what conceivable reason the Margolians could have had in trying to take us over. But I’ll give the producers this: I was hanging on to my chair during the chase scenes.
FOUR
Drink deep the cup of life;
Take its dark wine into your soul,
For it passes round the table only once.
- Marcia Tolbert Centauri Days, 3111 C.E.
The Hillside was an exquisite, posh club along the Riverwalk. The kind where they don’t put any prices in the menu because you’re not supposed to care. They had a human hostess, which is standard in most of the better restaurants, and human waiters, which of course is not. They also had a piano player.
The tables were well supplied with jasmine candles. Walls and tables were darkstained wood. Prints in the style of the last century provided a sense of nostalgia. I noticed a couple of senators with their spouses (I assumed) across the room. One, a well-known champion of corporate benefits, recognized Alex and came over to say hello.
Amy walked in a few minutes later, looking around as if she were lost. Then she spotted us and strode briskly over. “Good evening, Mr. Benedict,” she said, still taking in her surroundings. “This is really nice.”
Alex rose, pulled her chair out for her, and said he was glad she was pleased. She said hello to me and sat down.
She wore a pressed lavender suit and seemed to have had something of a makeover.
Her hair was pulled back and in better order. Her eyes were more alert, and she stood a bit straighter than she had at the office. She wasn’t at ease, but that of course was the reason we were there. The Hillside was the place Alex used when he wanted to put a client on the defensive. Which is to say, when he wanted something he wasn’t sure he could get.
She went immediately to business: “Chase said you have good news for me.”
That was her imagination at work. Alex looked at me, read my face, and smiled. “The cup is associated with a famous, and very early, interstellar,” he said. “We think it’s reasonably valuable.”
“How much?” she asked.
“We’ll have to let the market decide, Amy. I’d rather not guess.” He produced a chip.
“When you get time, complete this document. It will establish your ownership of the property.”
“Why do I have to do that?” she asked. “It’s mine. It was given to me.”
“And possession is ninety percent. But disputes have a way of appearing in these cases. It’s a formality, but it might save problems later.”
She was annoyed, but she took it and dropped it in a side pocket. “I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Alex. “As soon as you’ve done that, we’ll put the cup on the market and see what happens.”
“All right.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Now,” he said, “while we don’t know its precise value, we should establish a minimum bid.”
“How much?”
He gave her a number. I’ve been through these things before, but it took my breath away. It was more than I’d been able to earn so far in a lifetime. Amy’s eyes squeezed hard shut and I saw a tear run down her cheek. I may have been getting a little damp myself.
“Wonderful,” she said, with a breaking voice.
Alex beamed. He was the picture of philanthropic content. It was so nice to be of assistance. Our cut, of course, would be the standard ten percent of the eventual sale price. I knew him well enough to be aware that his minimum bid was conservative.
I thought for a minute she was going to come apart. Fluttering handkerchief, brave smile, giggle, and an apology. Sorry, it’s such a shock.
“Now,” said Alex, “I want you to do something for me.”
“Of course.”
The waiter arrived, and we took time to order, although Amy was no longer paying much attention to the menu. When he was gone, Alex leaned across the table. “I want you to tell me where it came from.”
She looked startled. Fox and hounds. “Why, I told you, Mr. Benedict. My exboyfriend gave it to me.”
“When would that have been?”
“I don’t know. Several weeks ago.”
Alex’s voice dropped even lower. “Would you be kind enough to tell me his name?”
“Why? I told you, it belongs to me.”
“Because there might be more of these objects around. If there are, the owner may not be aware of their value.”
She shook her head. No. “I’d rather not do that.”
Breakup city. Alex reached across the table and took her hand. “It could mean a great deal to you,” he said. “We’d arrange things so you got a finder’s fee.”
“No.”
He looked at me, shrugged, and changed the subject. We talked about how nice it was to have an enormous amount of money fall out of the sky, and how the cup was a valuable artifact. The meals came, and we continued in that vein until Alex caught my eye again. I understood what he wanted, and a few minutes later he excused himself.
Time for girl talk. “Bad ending?” I asked in a sympathetic voice.
She nodded. “I hate him.”
“Another woman?”
“Yeah. He had no right.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay. I let him get away with it a couple times. But promises don’t mean nothing to him.”
“You’re probably better off. He sounds like a jerk.”
“I’m over it.”
“Good.” I tried to look casual. “If he has more of these around somewhere, it could mean a lot more money for you.”
“I don’t care.”
“We could handle it so he wouldn’t know where the information came from. It would not involve you. He’d never know.”
She shook her head. Absolutely not.
“How about this? If he has any more artifacts like the cup, we’ll keep you out of it, and we’ll make him an offer without telling him what they’re really worth. Then you and I can split whatever we make.”
That would have been a trifle unethical, and Alex would never have gone for it. Me, I wouldn’t have had a problem. I was beginning to feel some sympathy for Amy, so I had no trouble taking her side.
She started having second thoughts. “You’re sure he’d never find out? About me?”
“Absolutely. We’ve handled these things before.” If we could get a name, it would be easy enough to look into the situation without alerting him. If it turned out there were actually more souvenirs from the Seeker lying around, then we could go back and negotiate some more with Amy.
“He would know it was me the minute you mentioned the cup.”
“We’d be careful.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’d know.”
“We wouldn’t mention the cup.”
“Don’t bring it up at all.”
“Okay. We won’t. We won’t say a word about it.”
She thought about it some more. “His name’s Hap.” Her face tightened and I thought she was going to cry again. It was turning into a weepy evening. “Actually, it’s Cleve Plotzky. But everybody calls him Hap.”
“Okay.”
“If you tell him, he’ll come after me.”
“He’s assaulted you,” I said.
She wouldn’t look at me.