Coming Home

Thirteen

Alex was out of the building later that day when we received a call from the Meridian Library in Areppo. Despite the fact it’s located on an island, the Meridian Library is probably the major storage complex for historical data on the planet. The voice was male. “We located the information Mr. Benedict called for. We can forward the entire result if you wish. Or if you want us to do a specific search, we can manage that as well.”

“No, no,” I said, with no idea what we were talking about. “Why don’t you just send the entire package? And thank you.”

Jacob’s professorial image appeared in the middle of the room, quiet smile, gray beard, dark jacket. “It’s coming in now, Chase.”

“What is it?”

“It’s Armand Rigolo’s Western Collapse. I guess Alex doesn’t have enough to read these days.” Rigolo’s book was the classic on the subject. It’s one and a half million words, written during the recovery period that began at the end of the Fourth Millennium. He paused. “Wait. There’s more.”

“What else?”

“Still coming in. Books about the two space museums, Huntsville and Florida. Also third-millennium catalogs and publicity documents from both places advising visitors why they would profit from a tour. Personnel sheets. Some inventories. Gift-shop ordering forms. There’s quite a lot really. And a note from one of the Meridian librarians.”

“Let me see the note.”

It appeared on the display:

Alex, this is everything we have on it. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

—Jami

I was paging through the material when Alex returned. He had a client with him, so it was another half hour before he actually had time to stop by the office. “Did they send us anything interesting?” he asked.

“I don’t know. What are we looking for?”

“Anything that might provide a clue to what Baylee was trying to do before he came home.”

“Yeah. Okay. That’s going to need someone smarter than I am.”

“Chase, I think we’re looking at a major discovery.” He sighed. “What did we get?” Jacob provided the list of enclosed materials, and Alex needed only a moment before something caught his attention. “The Huntsville inventory. Do we have a date, Jacob?”

“September 30, 3111.”

“Is that significant?” I asked.

“The inventory had some transmitters. It doesn’t say what kind. Wait a minute. But they have serial numbers.”

And the slowest person in the room came out of her coma. “The Corbett,” I said.

Alex’s voice reflected his excitement: “Yes. And the numbers match. Baylee’s hypercomm unit is on the list. There were three of them.” He raised a fist. “Yes! Magnificent!”

“So are we saying,” I asked, “that Baylee found the stuff that was at the Huntsville museum?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“All right. Where do we go from here?”

“I think we owe ourselves a vacation on the home world, don’t you?”

“That’s a long haul, Alex. And we still have no idea where to look.”

“That’s not entirely true. But you can stay here if you want to. I’ll understand.”

Sure he would. “All right. But how could Baylee have found the artifacts from Huntsville? That would have been the biggest archeological discovery ever. So he comes home and just throws the transmitter in the closet? And doesn’t say anything?”

“Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“Not that I can see.”

“So all right. Let’s just forget about it and get back to our accounting.”

“You know, Alex, you can be sarcastic at times.”

That brought a modest smile. “My feelings are hurt.”

“Okay,” I said. “When do we leave?”

“The Capella isn’t expected for several weeks. We should be back long before then. But let’s try to get a running start.”

“So where exactly are we going?”

“Gabe gave us one suggestion: Les Fremont. Luciana Moretti’s another possibility.”

It took me a moment, but I remembered: She was an advisor to the Southwick Foundation. “Believe it or not, Chase, she’s also a music professor. She and Baylee played together in an amateur band. One or the other should have some idea what he was up to.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Call Marissa. Advise her there’s a good chance the value of the transmitter will go up over the next few weeks. Tell her to hold on to it.”

The following morning, we caught the shuttle to Skydeck. We had just left the ground when Alex asked me if I knew who Monroe Billings was. I’d heard the name, but that was all. “He’s a science fiction writer,” he said. “He’s pretty well-known in the field.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m not big on fantasy. But why are you asking?”

“It’s not exactly fantasy.”

“Okay.”

“He’s written some seriously off-the-wall novels. In one, an expedition goes to Andromeda and discovers it’s alive.”

“What is?”

“Andromeda.”

“And you’re telling me it’s not fantasy.”

“In another, people are stored in computers and become immortal.”

“I’d certainly look forward to that.”

“He also wrote Good Times.”

“I assume it’s not as upbeat as it sounds.”

“It deals with genetic manipulation designed to make everybody happy.”

“That sounds pretty good.”

“Nothing ever works out well in these books. Can you imagine living with someone who’s always happy?” He sighed. “Anyhow, to answer your question, one of his books is Time Travelers Never Wait in Line. His characters go back to the Fourth Millennium. You know why?”

“I have no idea.”

“They’re looking for what they call the Apollo Sanctuary.”

“That’s where the Huntsville artifacts are hidden?”

“Yes.”

“You’re kidding. Do they find it?”

“Yes. And they bring everything back with them to our time. And the artifacts are all taken to a safe place.”

“That sounds like a happy ending. Where was the safe place?”

“Winnipeg.” Earth’s global capital. Well, that seemed appropriate. “It strikes me,” he continued, “it would have been a happier ending if they’d auctioned everything.”

We were just rising above the clouds. “Maybe,” I said, “we should look there first.”