Coming Home

Forty-two

Alex was relieved to hear that I’d seen Gabe. “I wish I’d been with you,” he said.

And with five years to wait, we took a few days off to feel sorry for ourselves and for the Capella families. I told Alex I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing trying to tell Robert Dyke not to monkey with the engines. And Shara told me that John Kraus had admitted to her that he now believed he’d made a mistake. Watching members of the families in tears on the various talk shows left us all with a sense that maybe, sometimes, when the odds are right, you take the chance. “It’s what life is,” said Alex.

Too late now.

We settled back into our normal routine. I started by running searches on Madeleine O’Rourke and Heli Tokata. Neither turned up anything although that came as no surprise. You don’t show up on someone else’s internet unless you’re a major figure of some sort. Alex said he’d send the picture to Les Fremont and Luciana Moretti and run the names past them. “I should have done that when we were still Earthside,” he said. “Getting careless, I guess.”

Meantime, the Transportation Department threw an appreciation ceremony for pilots and crews, attended by about half the people involved, the rest having probably returned to their home worlds. Eight of the Mutes attended. Awards for service beyond the call were granted in absentia to the two Randall crew members who took the last boats over to the Capella, but had not returned.

Alex and I attended, of course. It was one of the gloomier events I’d been to, and the only one recognizing a successful operation that was nevertheless downright melancholy. Alex’s mood blended right in. John sat down with us midway through the evening, and I was surprised to learn that he had intended to present Alex with an award for the discoveries that had led to the formation of the SRF. But when Alex learned of it, he’d declined.

That was out of character for him. I had never known him to shy away from public acclamation. So I asked him why. He just shrugged it off. When I persisted he said he didn’t want to accept an award when two others were being given to people who had jumped into the warp. “We might not get them back,” he said.

He remained unusually somber throughout the evening. As I’ve said, Alex is not exactly a party guy, but he knows how to enjoy himself when occasion demands. But not that night. And, finally, when we had a moment alone, I asked what else was bothering him.

“There was something John said to Captain Schultz—”

“And that was—?”

“That the world had changed. And he was talking about eleven years.”

“I’m not following.”

“Change is a constant, Chase. Which brings us back to Larissa.”

“Again?”

“When I ran my search for Larissa, we found a few unlikely places on the ground. And the Neptunian moon. I never thought about asteroids. They don’t get names. There’s a numbering system.”

“You think they might have had names in Zorbas’s time?”

“Yes. Chase, everything starts out with names. Planets, stars, galaxies, whatever.”

“Have you been able to confirm that about the asteroids?”

“Not yet. I’ve talked with people in several science and history departments. Everybody agrees that it must have been true, but nobody knows for certain.”

“You think that’s where Zorbas put everything? On an asteroid?”

“Where would you find a more secure location at a time when the entire planet was collapsing?”

“Linda Talbott got you thinking this way, didn’t she?”

“That’s a pretty remote place she has. But sure. If I had access to an asteroid and something I wanted to hide—It seems so obvious now I wonder how I didn’t think of it.” In fact, I had, but I let it pass.

“So how do we find it among millions of asteroids? You think there’s a listing somewhere?”

“If there is one that Zorbas used, Baylee must have found it. So, yes, I think there’s a good chance there’s a record, something that will identify the asteroids by name.”

“Where do we look? We’ve already searched the internets here and on Earth for anything named Larissa. Do we start checking internets around the Confederacy? That could take a while.”

“I think there’s a better way.”

“And what’s that?”

“Chase, you work for a company that services collectors. I’d be surprised if we can’t find a book in someone’s collection that wouldn’t provide the answer.”

Hardcover books remain popular items. Nothing shows off one’s intellectual prowess more effectively than a case full of classic novels and histories in a living room where they are visible to all. I sent a message out to everyone we knew who had a collection. That included a considerable majority of our clients. If one is interested in a piece of dinnerware once owned by Margo LaQuerta, we can be certain that her midnight comedies, in two volumes, rests on a shelf nearby.

The message read as follows:

I showed it to Alex, who suggested I remove his last name. “Keep it informal,” he said. And also he directed me to delete everything in the last sentence after volume, and finish the request with Thank you for your assistance.

We didn’t specify what we were looking for. We knew our clients too well. If a Larissa asteroid did exist, half of them would have somebody out within a few days looking for it.

I sent the message to over a hundred clients and had several replies before I could tell him it was gone.

We handled it by asking each respondent to show us the contents page and the index. We searched the index for asteroid and Larissa and anything else that might be suggestive. Most of them listed Larissa, but were referring to the Neptunian moon. Over the first few days, that was all we saw.

The media, meantime, were filled for days with stories about the rescue effort, interviews with everyone involved, and reports of parties thrown by the families who had gotten someone back, and even by a few who were simply grateful for the confirmation that everyone on the Capella was actually alive. Politicians made speeches and promises. A few people criticized John for not doing everything he could to have Robert Dyke pull the trigger.

Fairly typical, I thought, was an appearance on Charlie Koeffler’s show by one of the families we’d seen taken off by the Mutes. Karl Dunn and his wife Arlene had planned a ride to the stars with their two kids, Laurie and Jack. “And here we are,” said Arlene. “We were only out there a few days, and they’re telling us it’s 1435.”

Laurie, who was about eight, with a huge smile and curly brown hair, could not stop laughing. “We’re time travelers,” she said.

Jack was two or three years older. He had a question for Koeffler: “We heard they can turn the ship around, and we can ride back to where we came from. Back to 1424. Do you think that’s true?”

Koeffler laughed. “I don’t think it works in both directions.”

“So,” Jack continued, “Allie’s about twenty-two?”

Karl smiled and nodded. “Allie is Jack’s best friend.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Koeffler.

“But that means he’s old,” said Jack.

All three adults got a laugh out of that. But Jack looked seriously unhappy. “I’ve lost him.”

The shadow of 1440, when the real rescue would occur, hung over the shows. Serge Lebouef, on Jennifer in the Morning, was shattered by what had happened to his wife, Carmela. Carmela had been one of the two crew members who had stayed with the lifeboat packages and been swept along when the Capella was taken down. “Five years is a long time to be without her,” he said. “But I understand why she did it. And I’m proud of her.”

“Your wife’s a hero, Serge,” said Jennifer. “And the experts all agree that they should be able to recover her. That she is probably now on board the Capella.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure she’s all right. Listen, Jennifer, I wasn’t surprised by what she did. To be honest, it was the reason I hoped the Randall wouldn’t get close to everything. I know how this sounds, but—” He stopped, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and swallowed whatever he’d planned to say.

He’d brought images along, and we watched him and Carmela at the eighth-grade graduation of their daughter. We saw them on the beach, saw them strolling through Brockman Park, saw them overseeing their daughter while she played on a swing. “She’ll have to do a lot of growing up without her mom,” he said.

George Talbott was, as anticipated, not among the few who’d been rescued. But Linda had thrown the party anyway, providing transportation out to her asteroid home for any who wanted it. Alex had asked me to go while he attended a conference he couldn’t skip because he was guest of honor.

Approximately thirty people were in attendance. Half arrived in Linda’s vehicle. I came with them, since I was not excited about riding in an empty ship again. She launched the party by introducing George’s avatar, who proceeded to thank everyone for coming, then showcased the Weinstein chair. Had it stopped there, things would have been okay, but the avatar began talking about how in just five years the real George would arrive, and we could have a serious celebration. He kept going on like that, and some of us got uncomfortable. Five years, I suspected, was not a long time for an avatar. But George’s parents were present, and neither one looked like a good bet to make it to the follow-up event.

Eventually, Linda decided the avatar was not contributing a positive note and shut it down. But the damage was done, and the party never recovered. Instead of raising drinks to the fact that everything was under control and a celebration with George actually present was now within range, people took to wandering outside and looking up at the night sky through the plastene dome that shielded the house and commenting on how far away everything looked and that they would never want to live in a place like this. They were, of course, careful who was present when they made the observation.

Nevertheless, some of it got back to Linda, who became visibly annoyed. “We don’t live here,” she said. “This is where George writes. But unless he’s working on a major project, he stays groundside. With me.” Linda was fond of saying that she “hung out” at Momma. I actually couldn’t imagine her spending any length of time in the solitude that enwrapped that place. She’s too much of a social critter for that. And I suspect that, if George comes home and continues to settle in there while he writes his novels, the marriage will not get past the first renewal date.

The invitation included overnight accommodations for anyone who wished to stay. But by 0100 hours, Andiquar time, I was played out, and I rode back to Skydeck with one of our clients.

I didn’t get in to the country house until midafternoon the following day. By then we’d gotten access to nine more books. And Alex was right: During the Golden Age, they did assign names to asteroids. At least to some of them. We found Ceres and Victoria, Flora and Prosperpina, Bellona, Irene, and Pallas. But there was no mention of a Larissa.

Later that afternoon, a bouquet of golden roses arrived. They were from Khaled and were accompanied by a note. “I’d hoped to see you in the reports somewhere,” it read, “but there were so many people involved, and so many ships. Anyhow, congratulations. Do you plan on being there when the Capella returns?”

He signed it with love.

I sent off a thank-you, and told him that being able to help had been an exhilarating experience. Then I made a mistake. Alex was on the hunt again, and I knew where that was eventually going to lead. “Can’t say for sure,” I added, “but I suspect we’ll be heading back in your direction before long.”

Lawrence Southwick showed up at the country house that same afternoon to offer his congratulations. “It’s a pity we couldn’t have gotten more out,” he said, “but at least the end’s in sight. Did you guys get close enough to see them? The ship, I mean?”

“I wasn’t there,” Alex said. “Chase went.”

“Why not?”

“I take up too much space.”

We were in my office. It was a beautiful day, unseasonably warm, and both windows were open, so we were getting a fresh breeze. Birds sang, and a gomper was tapping on a tree. “So what’s your next project, Alex?” he asked.

“Don’t know, Lawrence. We’ve been involved in a fair amount of trading recently, and I’m thinking about taking a vacation.”

“That sounds good. Any idea where?”

“Out to the islands, probably.”

“Sounds perfect. You deserve one.”

“I think it’s Chase who deserves one. But how about you? What are you up to these days?”

“Not much. Retirement does that to you.” He turned to me. “Chase, will you really be taking some time off, too?”

“No,” I said. “Somebody has to hold the fort.”

“Of course. I understand how that is.” He smiled at Alex. “I wish, during my working years, I’d had an associate like her.”

We did some more small talk, then he said good-bye. “If I can ever be of help, Alex, don’t hesitate to let me know.” We watched him lift off in his skimmer and head out over the river.

Alex sat quietly for a few moments. “Chase,” he said finally, “did you notice anything odd?”

“No,” I said, “nothing I can think of. Why?”

“The question about whether we’d given up on the Golden Age artifacts.”

“Alex, he never asked anything like that.”

“Precisely. Doesn’t that strike you as curious?”

Responses about Madeleine O’Rourke came in from Lucianna and Les. Neither was aware of anyone with that name. But both knew Heli Tokata. “Tall young woman,” said Lucianna. “Green eyes, odd accent. She’s from Cormoral. A history buff. And a pilot. Came to Earth for her education, got her Ph.D. from Hemmings University in Kobula and never went home. The interesting thing is that she hooked up with Baylee for a couple of years. She might still live in Kobula.”

“She was just someone I knew to say hello to,” said Les. “She lives in the British Isles, or did last time I’d heard. Place called Sudenton. She was a member of Garnett’s crowd. I think she went out on a few expeditions with him.”

Alex was at lunch when another of our clients, Jorge Brenner, called. “I have a novel, Flex, by Cal Eliot. He was a twenty-first-century science-fiction writer, and it’s about a couple of guys who chase a shape-changing monster through the solar system. It attacks research stations, colonies, and orbital bases. I don’t know why it survived. The book, I mean. It’s not very good, but it’s kind of a ride through the planetary system. Earth’s planetary system. I don’t know if it could be any help to you. But these guys go everywhere. It has pretty good descriptions of the gas giants and Mercury and Mars, and at one point they land on the Venusian surface. It’s a bound book. But I can ship it over if you like.”

I couldn’t imagine it would provide what we were looking for. But what was the harm? “Sure, Jorge,” I said. “Send it when you can. We’ll take a look and get it right back to you.”

Meantime, more books arrived, and we discovered still more asteroids. Spock, Hrazany, Nanking, and Arabia. The latter two were obviously named for places. And Transylvania for, I guess, the famous physician. Nobody’s sure whether there actually was a place with that name. The significance of the first two names is unknown.

Other asteroids were named Anderson, McCool, Saga, Shoemaker, Arago, Einstein, and more than a hundred others. But there was still no sign of Larissa. Until Flex arrived.

The book had been published eleven years ago by Babcock, which specializes in reproducing books from other eras. It was a translation, of course. The cover showed two astronauts in clunky Third-Millennium gear confronting a bulbous monster while in the background an asteroid seemed to be bearing down on a vulnerable Earth. A note on the credits page claimed that the publishing house routinely did everything it could to re-create the original packaging. And that Flex was no exception. The present cover was the same as the one that had originally been used.

I turned it over to Jacob, who produced an electronic version, and a search for Larissa gave us a positive result. In one sequence, Mark Andrews and his partner Delia Tabor are barely able to intercept an asteroid that has been flung in the direction of the home world by the invading monster of the title. The asteroid is Larissa. And the name appears only once.

“That’s it on the cover,” I said.

“Beautiful, Chase.”

“The credits say it’s not the original artwork, Alex, but that it’s a copy.”

“The original might not have resembled the asteroid anyhow. I doubt they’d have bothered going to the trouble to get an actual reproduction.”

“But—?”

“There’s a chance. At least we have something to work with.”

I had lunch with Shara the following day, and I told her about the Flex monster. “Well,” she said, “I don’t know whether information about Larissa exists anywhere. But I can tell you the best place to look.”

“Where’s that, Shara?”

“The New Honolulu University. I should have thought of them before. They have a science history archive that would probably have it if anybody does.”

I passed her comment to Alex and told him I’d get a message out to them.

“Don’t bother.” He went over and looked out the window. It was a beautiful morning, birds singing, a plane in the distance, tree limbs moving lightly in the breeze. “We can check when we get there.”

“We’re really going back?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you think we should let them respond first? They might not be able to offer any help either.”

“If they can’t, we have another option.”

“What’s that?”

“We could try asking Baylee’s pilot where Larissa is.”

“Baylee’s pilot? Who’s that? Tokata?”

“Very good. Yes, I think that’s very likely. Chase, you haven’t been in touch with Khaled recently, have you?”

“I had a message from him last week.”

“Okay. We don’t want him to know we’re going.”

“I may already have given something away. I told him there was a possibility.”

“All right. Don’t say any more.”

“I won’t. But you want to tell me why?”

“I don’t trust him.”

Well, I knew he was wrong about that. I let it go, though. “Whatever you say. When do we leave?”

“There’s no rush. Can you manage tomorrow?”