I found holograms of Korinda and Faulkner. When I showed them to Alex, he commented that Korinda looked like me. She was an attractive woman, and it was Alex’s ham-handed way of passing a compliment. He’s good with the clients, but for whatever reason when he gets around to me he seems to have problems.
Faulkner looked the part of a guy with a mind of his own. Big, brawny, wide shoulders, obviously accustomed to command. About forty. The kind of guy you took seriously.
“But Harry’s the one we want to talk to,” said Alex. “He’s the heart and soul of the Margolians.” There weren’t any avatars back that far. But Jacob could assemble one from what was known about Williams. The problem was that it might not be very accurate. But then that was always the problem with avatars.
“There is not a wealth of data,” Jacob complained. “And the validity of what is known about Williams is suspect.”
“Do the best you can,” Alex said.
“It will take a few minutes. I have to make some judgment calls.”
“Good. Let me know when it’s ready.” Alex seemed distracted that morning. While he waited, he wandered around the house straightening chairs and adjusting curtains.
He stopped in front of one of the bookcases and stared at the volumes.
“You all right, Alex?” I asked him.
“Of course.” He strolled over to a window and gazed out at a ruddy, cloud-swept sky.
“You’re thinking about the disks.”
“Yes. Idiot woman throws them out.”
“Not her fault,” I said. “She had no way of knowing.”
He nodded. “Lucky she didn’t toss the shirt.”
“Do you think,” I said, “there’s any possibility the colony might have survived?
Might still be out there somewhere?”
“The Margolians? After nine thousand years?” He looked wistful. “It would be nice to find something like that. But no. There’s no chance.”
Stupid question. Had they lived, how would you explain the fact nobody had heard from them in all that time? “If they were out there, it might be they wouldn’t want to be found.”
“If trees could fly,” he said.
“If I were writing a novel,” I said, “they’d have arranged the earthquake that killed the Wescotts and ended their search.”
“And why would they want to keep their existence secret?”
“We’re barbarians in their eyes.”
“Speak for yourself, Chase.” He made a sound deep in his throat and lowered himself onto the sofa. “They not only died out, but they must have gone quickly.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because later generations wouldn’t have shared the grudge Harry Williams and his friends had. It just wouldn’t have happened. They’d have gotten back in touch. At some point. It would have been to everyone’s benefit.” His eyes slid shut. “They’d have had to. For one thing, after a few centuries, they’d have been as curious about us as we are about them. But the colony site is out there somewhere. And I’ll tell you, Chase, if we can bring back some artifacts from that, we are going to make some serious cash.”
There was a long silence. I became gradually aware of someone standing behind me, near the office door. It was a tall, dark-skinned man of middle age, dressed in clothing from another century. Cream-colored vest, loose black shirt open to the navel, the sort of white slacks you might wear at sea. Everything a bit more garish than you could get away with today. He smiled, looked at me, then at Alex, and said hello in the deepest baritone I’d ever heard.
“Harry Williams,” said Alex, sitting up.
“At your pleasure, sir. And, Chase, I would not be too quick to dismiss the possibility they survived.” He crossed the room, and took a seat in the armchair closest to Alex.
“Do you think you can find the colony world?”
I froze the picture. “Alex, I understood no likeness of him had survived.”
“You just have to persevere.” He grinned. “Never give up. That’s my motto.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“In fact, there are a few of them. This one came from a set of memoirs by a contemporary.”
The guy looked good. Noble aspect and all that. I could understand why people were willing to follow him. Even to distant places that didn’t have restaurants. Alex flipped through his notebook and reactivated Harry. “The goal was ‘to create free minds in a free society.’ Right, Harry?”
“Your words?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Noble sentiment.”
He nodded. “Unfortunately, the truth is it’s pure hyperbole. Nobody lives in a free society.”
“We do.”
“I doubt it. We all believe what our parents believed. You get filled up during the first few years when the mind is open to everything, and you assume adults know what’s going on. So you’re vulnerable. And if later on you decide to reject the local mythology, whatever it might be, you pay a price. Parents frown, old friends are shocked, you get ostracized. There’s no such thing as a completely free society.” A sofa appeared and he unwound into it.
“You’re not talking about us,” I said.
He smiled. “Freedom’s an illusion.”
We looked at one another across the expanse of the office. At that moment we might have been separated by light-years. Alex grinned at me. Are you really going to argue philosophy with this guy?
I plowed ahead. “Harry, aren’t we exaggerating a trifle?”
“We’re tribal, Chase. We talk about freedom, but you better not say things the tribe doesn’t care to hear. Or act outside approved norms.”
“For example?”
“I don’t know where I am.” He looked around the room, at the antiques on display for clients. At the several framed commendations. “You collect artifacts.”
“Yes.”
“That is your profession.”
“That’s correct,” I said.
“On-site? You recover some of them personally?”
That much was evident from the framed scroll presented us by Coryn University.
“Yes. Sometimes.”
He looked over at Alex. “Have you and your associate been accused of being grave robbers?”
“That’s very good,” Alex said.
“So much for your free society.”
“That’s different.”
“How is it different? You’re making an honest living, are you not? But there’s this tribal instinct about burial places being sacrosanct. Unless you work for a museum.”
Alex broke in. “Maybe we can hash this out another time. Harry, we’d like to find the colony world. Do you know where it is?”
“I have no idea. None whatever. The sources Jacob tapped to create this program did not have that information.”
“Pity.”
The guy had charisma. Or maybe that’s the wrong word. Presence. I sat there knowing I was in the company of a heavyweight. The way he smiled, the way he crossed one leg over the other, the way he engaged with us. He was accustomed to giving direction, taking charge, confronting what he had to. And I know that’s all part of the installation program, and the real Harry Williams might have been quite different. But nevertheless, his dialogue and persona were both extracted from what was known about him. “How long has it been?” he asked.
“Nine thousand years.”
His eyes widened at that. He took a deep breath. Swallowed. And I saw fear in his expression. “Are you telling me you don’t know where they are?”
“No.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Nothing’s been heard from them. Ever.”
“Since when?”
“Since they left Earth.”
He’d almost stopped breathing. “My God.” He threw his head back. “I don’t understand how that could be. May I ask where we are?”
“We’re not on Earth,” said Alex.
“Amazing.” He smiled. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”
Alex shook his head. No.
Harry got up, went to the window, and looked out. “It looks like home.”
“Most of the garden is designer plants. Everything else, trees, grass, you name it, is native to Rimway.”