Alex wore his best for the occasion: navy jacket, white collar, silver links. Windy introduced us around. “You wouldn’t believe how things have been going here,” she said. “It’s been a circus.”
The hosts passed out snacks and drinks, and as soon as all the scientific people were present, we were moved into a conference room. A man who seemed to be in charge took the podium, everyone quieted, and he introduced Alex, “the gentleman who made the discovery.”
Alex got an enthusiastic round of applause, pointed to me, and said how he couldn’t have done it and so forth. The audience swung around in their seats, I got up, and they clapped heartily. He described how the mission had gone, outlined aspects of the discoveries they might want to pay particular attention to (like finding the ground station at Margolia, which very likely had been located along the equator), showed some pictures, and asked for questions. The first one was a navigational issue, which he passed to me.
When they finished, he wished them luck and sat down. The guy in charge returned to the lectern. He made a few brief comments, thanked everyone for coming, and adjourned the meeting. I learned later he was Emil Brankov, the senior scientist and team leader.
As we headed back toward the main room, Alex told me he wanted to find out when the Seeker blew up. “I’d like to know if it matches 2745.”
“When the orbits came closest to each other.”
“Yes. Do you think it would be hard to determine? When the engines went?”
“If they’ve got somebody along who’s familiar with the way they built ships during that period, they ought to be able to do something. Ships have all kinds of clocks and timers. Probably did even in those days. It’s just a matter of figuring out when the engines shut down.” I was becoming aware one of the younger team members had been watching me with interest. “Why do we care?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m still on a fishing expedition.” A strange look came into his eyes. “I don’t know what it is. There’s something that doesn’t feel right. And I think we owe them that much. To get at the truth.”
“Alex, all this is thousands of years ago.”
We found out the mission was carrying an expert on early FTL technology. His name was Spike Numitsu. He was an older guy, white hair, long nose, sparkling sea-blue eyes. Alex cornered him and asked whether he could work out the date of destruction.
“Possibly,” he said. “I’ll keep you informed.”
“I can’t see it could make any difference,” I said.
“I know.” His eyes were focused somewhere in the distance. “But I’d like to know why the Bremerhaven was released from its tether. And why its orbit doesn’t match up.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The would-be murderer was especially pernicious, having planned to do the deed before the victim had finished dinner.
- Barrington’s Ethics, third edition, 1411 Survey’s field mission got off on time, and a few days later we were receiving reports from both ships. Spike and his team seemed less rattled than Alex and I had been.
They talked about the presence of mummified remains as if they were simply one more result to be noted and filed.
Meantime, the Gonzalez went into orbit around the jungle world, completed a survey, and announced that the scanners had located ruins. Everything was buried beneath the jungle, but it was there. It was confirmed: We had found Margolia. That night, we called in friends and celebrated till dawn.
Windy informed us that the Medallion Report, as she called it, had been forwarded to the director. (He was, of course, in on the plot.) The suspect staff member had handled it, so now it was just a matter of sitting back and waiting for Ollie Bolton to pack his bags and take off for the far side of the Confederacy.
Meantime, there were no more attempts on our lives.
Alex, pleading he was exhausted, decided on a vacation and headed for the Guajalla Islands. “Hold the fort,” he said. “And don’t call me.”
Which is how it happened that I was alone in the building when Bolton called. I almost told him I was disappointed to hear he was still in town. “I need to speak with Alex,” he said. There had always been an aura of both sincerity and vulnerability about him. I had to work to dislike the guy.
“He’s not here, Dr. Bolton,” I said.
He was seated behind a desk, collar open, looking tired. Looking disappointed.
“Chase, don’t get formal with me. Where is he?”
“He’s on vacation.”
“Where?”
“He left instructions not to divulge the information.”
“Can you reach him?”
“No.”
He let me see he knew I was lying. “When do you expect him back? Do you think you can tell me that much?”
“In a week.”
“Chase-”
“Did you want to leave him a message, Doctor?”
“I guess the two of you left one for me.” He picked up a sheet of paper, studied it, dropped it back on the desktop.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not following you.”
“Palea Bengatta.”
“Oh.”
“I guess the secret’s out.”
“What secret’s that?”
“I’m not going to apologize.”
“I didn’t expect you to.”
“It’s competition. All’s fair.”
“Sure it is. Was it you who destroyed the shuttle?”
He looked genuinely shocked. “Was that aimed at you?” His eyes got very large, and I got the sense he had to catch his breath. “Chase, do you honestly think I’m capable of something like that?”
Actually, I didn’t. “Are you?”
“No! I’ve never harmed anyone. Never would.”
“Is there anything else, Doctor?”
“Maybe I should have realized. When it happened the same day you got back. And now this.” He hesitated. “Are you there alone?”
“Yes,” I said. “Why would you care?”
The lines in his face were sharply defined. Maybe it was the lighting. Or maybe he was scared. “Be careful,” he said.
It didn’t sound like a threat.
I called Windy. “Have you heard anything from Bolton?”
“No,” she said. “Why?”
“I just talked to him. He didn’t bite.”
“I thought you guys were underestimating him.”
“Yeah. Looks like.”
“Have I your permission now to get rid of the contact? The director isn’t happy walking on eggshells.”
“Yes. Of course. Do what you have to.” She looked annoyed. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m sorry the creep is going to get away with it.”
“I know. Me, too.”
I debated letting Alex know about the call from Bolton, but decided to let it go. I could tell him when he got home. I didn’t want him reminded of it when he was supposed to be taking time off.
Two days later, Windy told me Brankov had landed on Margolia and begun excavations. “They’re into one of the sites,” she said. “It’s down about thirty, forty meters under the jungle floor.”
“How’s the weather?”
“Wet and hot.”
“Not good conditions.” Anything left by the settlers would have turned to mush.
An hour later she released the first statement on the findings. It included a picture of Brankov holding a rock that was reasonably smooth on one side and that he said had once been part of a wall.
That evening, speaking at a dinner of corporate types, the director described his reactions to the news and added how pleased he was with the contributions made by Alex Benedict, noting that he’d been “exemplary in his efforts” to protect the sites.
That was too much for Kolchevsky, who erupted again that evening. But he’d become old news, so he didn’t get much play. But he’d drummed up some allies, and there was evidence a new push was on to criminalize artifact retrieval unless it was done under license from an authoritative source. Alex had always insisted that such a law could not be passed, that it was essentially unenforceable. When I mentioned it to Windy, she surprised me. “You’ll find out eventually,” she said, “so I might as well tell you. I’m one of the backers. I think we have a good chance to get it through.”