Seeker

TWENTY-FOUR

The sciences have always missed the point. Theirs is a dream world filled with quantum fluctuations, rubber dimensions, and people who cannot decide whether they are dead or alive. Perception is the only reality.

- Leona Brachtberg,

Last Woman Standing, 1400 For almost two days Alex was the toast of Andiquar. He appeared on Jennifer in the Morning and The Daytime Show and Joe Leonard amp; Co. Academic heavyweights showed up everywhere to pay him compliments and explain to the public the significance of the discovery. Alex confronted Kolchevsky on Jennifer and later on The Dumas Report, pointing out the contributions he’d made over the years, while Kolchevsky called him a tomb robber.

On the second night, somebody on the south coast was charged with murdering his wife and throwing the body off a small boat, and the Margolia story was driven out of the headlines.

Alex enjoyed playing the conquering hero and was even willing to show generosity to Kolchevsky. “He stands up for what he believes in,” he told me. “It’s hard to take issue with that.” He even sent a message to him, congratulating him on his performance. He insisted, with a straight face, that he was not rubbing it in.

There was only one uncomfortable moment, which occurred when Ollie Bolton came to our defense.

Speaking on The Data Drill, he announced that he was proud to be a colleague of Alex Benedict. “Alex and I are close friends,” he said. “I know him well, and he has always been a credit to the community. If he has perpetrated an outrage, then so have I. If he has gone beyond what is permitted by law, and by a decent regard for the opinions of mankind, then I have gone even farther.”

“Sanctimonious creep,” said Alex.

“Alex Benedict is right,” Ollie continued. “If it weren’t for people like him, many of these remnants of our past would remain adrift for ages. Might, in fact, never be found at all.”

On the day that the South Coast Murder, as it came to be called, took over the media, the weather finally turned, and spring showed up. Birds were warbling, everything was in bloom, and a fragrant breeze was moving the curtains.

Windy called Alex to add her voice to the compliments pouring in. “You almost had me convinced that we need more antiquities dealers,” she said. “So you can take it as an honest, but reluctant, appraisal.”

“Thanks.”

“Something else I’ve been wanting to mention. There’s talk in the office of bringing you on as a consultant. Would you be interested?”

He thought about it. “Windy,” he said finally, “you know you can ask me anything at any time, and I’ll do what I can. But I don’t think I’d want to enter into a formal contract.”

Her expression registered disappointment. “There’s nothing I can do to persuade you?”

“No. I’m sorry. But thanks.”

“That’s pretty much what I thought you’d say. But hear me out. We’ll take you both on. The compensation would be steady, wouldn’t take much of your time, and you’d have the sense of satisfaction that comes with knowing you’re making a serious contribution. And we’d approve your sales. That would give you cover.”

“And give Survey control of the business.”

“Alex, it would work well for everyone.”

“I appreciate the offer,” he said.

Bolton also called. “I’ve been meaning to get to you,” he said. “What a magnificent coup. Margolia. How can any of us ever top this?” He looked genuinely pleased and not at all envious.

“Thank you, Ollie,” Alex said, his voice neutral.

“I wish I’d been with you.”

Alex wasn’t entirely able to hide his contempt. “Or maybe even a bit ahead of us.”

“Oh, yes. I won’t deny that. Anyhow, I’ve ordered a case of the best Kornot wine sent over. Please accept it with my congratulations.”

“You know,” Alex said, when the line was cleared, “I listen to him, and I think maybe Windy is right. Maybe we are all thieves.”

“Well, Alex, we can be pretty sure he is.”

“Yeah.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You know, maybe it’s time Dr.

Bolton paid a price for Gideon V.”

Three days later I was at Windy’s office with a packet of documents. “Do you know what the Blackmoor Medallions are?”

“Of course.” She took a deep breath. “You don’t mean to tell me he’s found them now?”

“No,” I said. “But we’d like Ollie Bolton to think so.” I laid the papers on her desk.

The top one stipulated that Alex believed the Medallions were located on a threecenturies-old imperial warship, the Baluster.

She registered doubt at first, then began to smile. “Which is where?”

“In orbit around the supergiant star Palea Bengatta. The ship was damaged in the fighting, and they just left it there. What we’d like you to do is pass this up the line to the director’s office. The woman you suspect of giving out information is still there, right?”

“Yes. We haven’t said anything to her.”

“Good. Please keep it that way. For a while.”

She looked at the report. “Palea Bengatta? Where’s that located?”

“It’s on the far side of the Confederacy. In the direction of the Perseus Arm.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just a derelict. There are several of them out there. Left over from the Morindan civil wars.”

“So what’s the point?”

“The Baluster was a battle cruiser. A search will take months. Maybe years.”

“Have you explained how the Medallions got there?”

“It’s all in the footnotes,” I said. “Madness in high places.”

“And you think Bolton will buy it?”

“We think he’ll find it irresistible.”

Alex had included legitimate (where it could be found) and bogus documentation: the nature of the damage, copies of fleet memoranda, pieces of personal correspondence.

“There was, in fact, a story that a member of the administration escaped on a warship with the Medallions, when things started to come apart.” I shrugged. “Who knows what the truth is?”

“You two are something else, you know that?”

There was also an account of Rainbow’s own plans to make the flight. Leaving in five weeks. As soon as we can get things together. Sources were named, and it all looked very official.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“It’s okay. It’s nice to see a little poetic justice. I hope it works. By the way, our Margolia mission will be leaving in a week. We’d like to have you and Alex come by for the farewell ceremonies.”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“And maybe we could have Alex say a few words.”

The event was conducted at the newly erected Pierson Hall in the Survey complex.

Ponzio was there, of course, and a clutch of politicians. And the exploration team.

There were about a dozen of them, and they’d be riding in two ships. VR representations of the ships themselves, the Exeter and the Gonzalez, floated on either side of the room. I’d once piloted the Exeter, which had since been specially modified with state-of-the-art sensors. The Gonzalez was loaded with excavation equipment.

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.”