Echo

SEVEN

Rachel Bannister had spent several years as a freelance pilot before connecting with Universal Transport, for whom she hauled executives, clients, and politicians around the Confederacy. She went from there to World’s End Tours, where she took people sightseeing. In 1403, after four years with World’s End, she resigned. She was only forty-two at the time, but she left piloting altogether and, as far as the record shows, never went off-world again. At least not as a pilot. She currently ran an online financial advisory service. In her role as a social-service activist, she appeared occasionally as a guest on Nancy White’s Fireside.

Rachel spent much of her time with volunteer organizations, primarily working with children. She led an organization that sued abusive parents and relatives, requiring them to undergo psych alterations. (Not somebody, I thought, you’d want to fool around with.) And she’d fostered a lifelong enthusiasm for music, occasionally participating in amateur productions. She lived alone in a condo off Leicester Square.

Normally, we conduct business meetings online. But, for something like this, Alex’s preference was for personal contact.

Leicester Square was an upscale area, a network of parks that were home to condos and small shops and restaurants. Parkland University was situated along its northern perimeter, with the Grenada Preserve to the south.

We didn’t call ahead. No point alerting her. Alex took the rest of the day and read everything he could find on her. She’d gotten her license in 1382. At the University of Carpathia, she’d been a student of Tuttle’s. Later, she became an occasional companion and love interest. This despite the difference in their ages. She never married.

“Hard to imagine,” I said.

“What’s that?” Alex was looking out at gathering clouds as we rose above the country house and turned toward Andiquar. The sun was sinking behind the horizon, and the Melony glittered in the shifting light. “Starships to stocks and bonds?”

“You got it.”

“Some people would tell you that if you want a wild ride, Chase, financial securities are considerably more exciting than what you do for a living.”

“Yeah, but nobody’s going to take that seriously.”

“You think? Ask somebody who’s put his life savings on Berkmann AntiGrav.” Berkmann, of course, had tanked a few months earlier. Along with a lot of other high-tech stocks.

“Say what you like, Alex, but it’s a different kind of ride. What can you do with a stock portfolio that matches gliding through the Baccharian rings? Or riding with a comet?”

He laughed. “That’s why I love you, Chase,” he said.

We pulled into the flow of traffic, and the AI told us that Leicester Square was fourteen minutes away. “I take it things are going well with Audree,” I said. He’d been out with her the previous evening.

“Well enough.” Coy, but all his lights came on.

“She’s a good woman.”

“Yes, she is.”

Traffic was heavy. “Have you guys set a date yet?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s in the immediate future.”

“There’s someone else in her life, huh?”

“I really have no idea, Chase.”

“She won’t wait forever, you know.”

“Do you know about somebody else?”

“No, I was just asking a question.”

He fell silent. Then he changed the subject. “The touring industry isn’t doing well.”

“I don’t think it ever has. To begin with, most people don’t like the long flights. If there’s not a black hole within an hour’s ride, they’re just not interested. They’d rather be home with their feet up living in a virtual world.”

“That’s probably true. Maybe it’s what drove Tuttle to join the Gibbon Society.”

“Maybe.”

“But there’ve always been people who can’t see above the rooftops. Most people, probably.”

“You’re turning into a pessimist, Alex.”

“Turning into one? Where’ve you been the last few years, Chase?” He looked at me in the half-light from the instrument panel, and he laughed again. The guy was really happy that night. More so than I’d seen him in a while. Alex tends to be emotionally pretty level. He doesn’t get depressed, and he takes his successes in stride. But something good was happening. And I didn’t think it had anything to do with a stone tablet.

Leicester Square is beautiful immediately after sunset. The growing darkness is partially offset by illumination from concealed lamps. The least bit of wind sets the broad leaves of the spiva trees to swaying gently. In winter, the fountain is shut down, but that evening, with serious cold weather a month away, it was still flowing, glittering with reflected light. People were feeding nuts to the birds. At the north end of the park, kids were tossing a ball around. And there was of course the inevitable dog.

Well, not a dog, really. A gooch, probably the closest thing Rimway has to a canine.

Public parking inside the Square is restricted to a single area on the western perimeter. We got instructions from the traffic monitor and descended onto the indicated pad. We were about five minutes from Rachel’s condo.

We climbed four or five stone steps onto a covered walkway and stopped at the front door. It asked who we were.

“Chase Kolpath and Alex Benedict,” Alex said.

“You are not on the approved list.”

“Please inform Ms. Bannister we are preparing a history of the Directorate of Planetary Survey and Astronomical Research. We would like very much to speak with her for a few minutes. We won’t take much of her time.”

“One moment, please.”

The buildings at Leicester varied from two to four stories. They were designed in the late-modern Ortho style: curved walls, convex windows, turrets in unexpected places. A gust of wind blew dead leaves along the walkway.

The lock clicked. “You may come in. Ms. Bannister’s unit is number forty-seven.”

The entrance hall had no antigrav lift. Instead, it provided a staircase and an elevator. We took the elevator, got off on the fourth floor, found the room, and paused. The door opened, and Rachel Bannister smiled at us and said hello. “Please come in,” she added.

She was lovely, in a contained way, a woman with classic features, inquisitive blue eyes, and brown hair cut short. She was a bit taller than I am, and she struck me as someone who was accustomed to having her way. Our unannounced appearance had probably given her the impression we were not to be taken seriously. “I wish I’d known you were coming,” she said. “I have to be leaving in a few minutes.”

“I’m sorry to have imposed,” said Alex. “We could come back at a more convenient hour if you prefer.”

“No, no. I’m sure you’d like to get your research done. Let’s get it taken care of.” The lights were dim, consisting of a single overhead strip and a lamp on a side table at one end of a long, padded sofa. A gorfa was curled up on the sofa, watching us with narrowed eyes while its tail swished gently back and forth. A second one looked in from the dining room to see what was happening, turned, and wandered away. Rachel noticed they’d gotten my attention. “I have three of them,” she said. “All strays.” She looked down at the one on the sofa. “This is Winnie.”

Winnie recognized the name and rubbed her head against a cushion.

Rachel was in casual clothes. Unless she was headed for the gym, she didn’t look as if she’d been planning an evening out. Two matching armchairs, and the sofa, were centered on a circular coffee table, on which a book lay open. I couldn’t make out the title. The walls were stucco, decorated with pictures of children, one of whom might have been a ten-year-old Doug. Two wide curtained windows provided a view of the park. And a framed certificate from the Amicus Society, awarded for “extraordinary service,” hung on the wall. The Amicus Society, of course, is devoted to the care and welfare of wildlife. I saw nothing that suggested she’d once piloted interstellars.

She invited us to sit and asked whether we’d like something to drink. She had some chocolate liqueur, which has always been a turn-on for Alex. I settled for a glass of wine, and she mixed something for herself. I glanced at the open book and asked about it.

“It’s Dead by Midnight,” she said. “It’s a Keith Altman novel.” Keith Altman, of course, is the celebrated private detective in the classic series that’s been popular throughout the Confederacy for almost two centuries.

Alex and I took the armchairs, and she settled onto the sofa. Rachel commented that she’d heard of Alex and pronounced herself surprised that he had found time or reason to visit her. “My understanding, Mr. Benedict,” she said, “is that you sell antiques. I think there’s a game of some sort being played here. Are you and Ms. Kolpath really writing a history of Survey?”

Something in her manner indicated nothing was to be gained by lying. “No,” said Alex. “That’s not really quite accurate.”

“And what, if I may ask, do you actually want?” Her voice hardened. It didn’t become hostile, just don’t bother me with nonsense. She glanced my way, as if expecting me to respond. But this seemed like a good time to let Alex carry the ball.

He weighed his answer. Tasted the liqueur. “It’s good,” he said. She did not respond, and he continued: “Actually, Ms. Bannister, I think you know.”

“Really?”

“Now you are the one playing games.”

“I do not play games, Mr. Benedict.” Her manner shifted slightly. Became more intense. Not cold. Not angry. But she let us know we were close to crossing a line.

“I understand you knew Somerset Tuttle.”

“Yes,” she said. “I knew him. He was a friend.”

Alex looked my way. “Chase is also a pilot.”

The tension did not go away. “I haven’t done any of that for a long time.”

I took my cue and smiled back. “I envy you, Ms. Bannister.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Most of us just haul people and freight around. You were out there in unknown territory. You never knew what lay ahead. Must have been pretty exciting stuff.”

“For the most part, I simply ran tours.” She paused. “Is that why you’re here? To inquire about my emotional state?”

“No,” I said. “But I just travel port to port, occasionally. And take Alex out once in a while. Mostly, I sit at a desk. You, on the other hand—”

She gazed at me. “Have you tried Survey, Ms. Kolpath?”

“No. Not really.”

“I have friends over there. I’m sure I could get you a billet if you’d like to put a little more excitement into your life.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

Alex pretended to look annoyed, thereby annoying me. It never occurred to him that I might have been serious.

“Now,” said Rachel, keeping focused on me, “did you want to get to the point? Or should we just chat for a bit? I really am running out of time.”

“Tuttle left us with a puzzle,” said Alex, in a level voice. “He owned a tablet engraved with symbols we can’t identify. They don’t look like any known human language.”

“Really? Well, it’s probably from one of the digs. Sunset was inclined—bear with me, Somerset, that is—liked to collect souvenirs. I don’t specifically recall a tablet, but it’s possible. Maybe it’s from Karinya. Or Dismal Point. Settlements were established there. Thousands of years ago. I know he visited places like that occasionally.”

“Ms. Bannister, didn’t you send your nephew to Tuttle’s former home to pick up a tablet?” He produced a picture of the object and handed it to her.

“Oh,” she said. “Yes. The rock. I had no idea that’s what we were talking about.”

“May I ask where it is now?”

“In the river, Mr. Benedict, as best I know. Look, I have no idea why you’re so overwrought about this. But yes, I saw the rock, the tablet, when it was advertised. Try to understand that I had a close relationship at one time with Somerset. When I saw the tablet appear, and realized what it was and that someone was getting rid of it, my first thought was that it would be nice to have it here. Sentimental value. So yes, I asked Doug to go by and pick it up for me. Is anything wrong with that?”

“When you realized what it was—What actually was it?”

“It was an object once owned by a man I cared about.”

“You don’t know any more about it than that?”

“No.”

“They were halfway back here, and you changed your mind. Told them to drop it in the river. Right?”

“I told Doug to get rid of it. I left the details to him.”

“May I ask why you changed your mind?”

“I told you it had sentimental value.”

“Yes?”

“It occurred to me that having it here, where I’d see it every day, would be painful. Now, if you want to find out precisely where it is, you need to ask Doug. I can give you his code if you like.”

“Ms. Bannister, you know, of course, what Tuttle’s life work was?”

“Of course. Everybody who knows anything about him knows what he was looking for.”

“We were wondering if he succeeded.”

“Oh.” She broke into a spasm of laughter.

“You think it’s funny?” Alex said.

“I think it’s hysterical, Mr. Benedict. If you knew the man, you’d understand that if he found anything like what you’re suggesting, he’d have told the world. Within twenty-four hours. It’s all he cared about.”

“Did he care about it even more than he cared about you?”

That hurt. I saw it in her eyes. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “He didn’t care about me that much. We were friends. That’s all.”

Alex’s voice shifted a notch. “Is the tablet here?”

Her eyes widened. “I’d invite you to look, Mr. Benedict, but I don’t think you’re entitled to that privilege. And I think prolonging this conversation will simply be a waste of time.” She got up. “I really must be going.”

The condo had a kitchen, a dining area, and, if my guess was right, two additional rooms. “Ms. Bannister,” Alex said, “I’m prepared to make a substantial offer if you would simply allow us to examine the stone.” He named a figure. It would have bought a luxury skimmer.

Rachel looked at me. “Chase, you need to find a more rational associate. I do recommend you look into a position at Survey.”

“Let us see it,” Alex said, “and we’ll say nothing to anyone. If that is what you wish.”

She walked over to the door and told it to open. “I wish I had it, Mr. Benedict. So I could take your money.” She smiled pleasantly. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Alex said.

As we passed out into the corridor, she lingered in the doorway. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Benedict. After everything I’d read about you, I had expected more.”

Alex faced her. “You understand, Ms. Bannister, that you’ve taken unlawful possession of an object that is covered under the General Antiquities Provision Act?”

“What are you talking about?”

“If the tablet is what we think, it can’t be acquired by a private individual. It’s protected.”

“You’re being silly, Mr. Benedict. You just finished telling me that Somerset owned it.”

“In a presumptive sense. In fact, an object like that belongs to everyone.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“If you refuse to cooperate, you’ll leave me no choice but to notify the authorities.”

“Do as you like. I’m not sure what it will do to your reputation when they get here and discover you’ve been making it all up.”

“What’s the General Antiquities Provision Act? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Actually, it exists, but I don’t think it outlaws private ownership—”

“Then why—?”

“Use your imagination, Chase.”

“Alex, don’t you think she’ll look it up? She’ll find out quickly enough you, um, weren’t being truthful.”

“I don’t think we need worry about that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a law, Chase. It’s a hundred pages of fine print written in legalese.”

I shrugged. “I think she’s telling the truth,” I said, as we rode the elevator down.

“That brings us back to the original question.”

“Which is—?”

“Why isn’t the tablet in the river? Does Doug Bannister strike you as a guy who would be interested in artifacts?”

“His wife might.”

“I don’t think Doug’s wife is in charge here.”

“So what’s next?”

“You feel like doing a stakeout?”

“A stakeout? Here?”

“It shouldn’t take long.”