Echo

THREE

Alex asked me to set up a conference with Jerry Hagel. The name was vaguely familiar because he was a client, but otherwise I knew nothing about him. So I looked up his profile. Unlike most of the people we served, he wasn’t wealthy. And he had only one very narrow interest: Sunset Tuttle.

Through Rainbow, Hagel had acquired the Callisto’s AI, and a shirt worn by Tuttle. He also owned a telescope that had been mounted on the ship’s hull, and, incredibly, the interdimensional drive unit. He had a transfer bill signed by him, a reading lamp from the Rindenwood house, and images of the Callisto leaving Skydeck, returning to Skydeck, passing across the face of the moon, and looking down from orbit on Parallax III and several worlds bearing only numerical designations.

Hagel was an architect. He’d been married three times. The third marriage had recently dissolved. He had a reputation for being a difficult man to work for. And, I guessed, to live with. There were no kids.

He was an enthusiast for the outer fringes of science. There were no ghosts, he is quoted as saying, but there might be interdimensional echoes that “occasionally leak through the time-space fabric.” And he thought there might be an inflexibility in the quantum mechanical world that eliminated multiple possibilities. That the uncertainty principle was an illusion. “There is no such thing as free will,” he’d once told a gathering of the Lincoln Architects Association. I’m sure they invited him back.

When I reached him, he was having dinner with guests. There was a lot of noise and laughter in the background while I identified myself. I told him Alex wanted to talk with him when he had a few minutes.

“Can’t at the moment,” he said. “I’m entertaining friends, but I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.”

He was in his skimmer an hour or so later when he called. Alex was out of the building. “What did he want, Chase? Do you know?”

“He had some questions. About Sunset Tuttle.”

“What did he want to know?”

“You’ve always been interested in Tuttle.”

“Yes. I think I qualify as something of an expert.” He tried to sound modest, as though being an expert on Tuttle was a major achievement.

“Jerry, do you know of any indication, any rumor, that Tuttle might have found what he was looking for?”

“You mean aliens?”

“Yes.”

He exploded with laughter. “Listen, Chase, if he’d found anything out there, it wouldn’t be necessary to ask about it. He’d have organized a parade. Ridden down Market Street with an alien mayor.”

“Can you imagine any set of circumstances that might have led him to keep quiet about it?”

“No. None.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Well, there was a story that got around at one point, but conspiracy theorists are always with us.”

“What’s the story?”

“That he found something so terrible he didn’t dare reveal it. Except to a few people high in the government. So now, the theory goes, there’s an area out there that they keep absolutely secret. Where nobody’s allowed. It’s never been made official, and, naturally, the government denies everything. If you submit a flight plan that takes you anywhere close, they’ll find a reason to deny permission. Impending supernova or something.”

“Where is this area?”

“Oh, nobody knows, of course. If people knew, you wouldn’t be able to keep them out.”

“You don’t think there’s any truth to it? None at all?”

He broke into a wide grin. “Chase, I know you’re not serious.”

“No. Of course not. Just kidding.”

“Unless you guys know something I don’t.” I heard the lander set down. “Have you—?”

“No.” I tried to sound amused. “I’m just thinking what a great story it would make.”

The skimmer door opened. “Yes, it certainly would.”

“Jerry, thanks. We’re just doing some historical research and trying to get a handle on the folklore that surrounds this guy.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s a legendary character, okay. Sometimes I think it’s the failure that makes him so interesting. I mean, he just wouldn’t quit. You have to love him. I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“Well, thanks, Jerry.”

But Jerry wasn’t finished. “There are others out there. Have to be. The thing is, intelligence is an aberration. But the galaxy is big. Instead of talking as if there’s nobody here except us and the Mutes, we should recognize that the fact there are Mutes shows it’s possible. And with all those worlds, there are going to be others. We’ve become too set in our ways. We have access to the entire galaxy, but we talk as if we have it all to ourselves. Eventually we’re going to run into somebody, and we better damned well be ready so we don’t screw it up the way we did last time.”

“You mean by shooting at them.”

“That, too. I suppose the real loss is the lack of imagination. If I were an extraterrestrial, I think I’d find us pretty dumb.”

“What kind of person was he, Jerry?”

“He was exactly the man you’d want to have at your back if you got in trouble. You could count on him to do what he said. And he didn’t discourage easily.”

“Obviously not.”

“Do you know where the name of his ship came from?”

“The Callisto? It’s one of the moons of Jupiter, isn’t it?”

“One of the Galilean moons, Chase. One of the four moons that Galileo discovered. When that happened, it shook the medieval worldview. Society was never the same.”

We set Jacob to do an online hunt for the two men who’d collected the tablet. We couldn’t do that with the woman because she’d kept her back to the imagers.

The big one turned out to be Brian Lewis, a police officer. The other one was Doug Bannister, who was a medical technician. The bios indicated they both played airball on an amateur team, the Conneltown Dragons. Conneltown was located about fifty kilometers outside Andiquar, on the Melony. We were in the middle of the season, and the Dragons’ next game was the following evening. “Let’s not make an issue of this,” said Alex. “No point going to their homes if we don’t have to. You an airball fan, by any chance?”

“I guess I am now.”

The Dragons were at home, playing the Tylerville Hawks. I told Alex I could barely wait, and he said he’d treat for a steak dinner after the game and would that be okay? I told him yes, provided he didn’t sit there during the game explaining the rules to me.

Several hundred people showed up on a chilly evening. The game would be played on an open field, under lights. The patrons watched from rickety stands. We spotted our two guys right away. The crowd applauded enthusiastically as the hometown players were introduced. The captains met at the center of the field, a coin was tossed, and the teams lined up on opposing sides. Lewis was a starter; Bannister was on the bench.

For those who don’t pay attention to trivia, it’s enough to say that the game is played with six on a team. The object is to move the ball into the other team’s territory and, using a paddle, whack it into a moving net. The net squeals when a goal is scored, invariably setting off a loud crowd reaction. The game gets its name, and its charm, from the fact that the teams move through shifting gravity fields.

At no time are players permitted to hold the ball. The gravity gradients in the various fields change constantly, but not abruptly, giving the players time to adjust. But the shifts are unpredictable. It’s one minute up and the next minute down. Maximum gravity permissible is 1.6, which would put me at about 185 pounds. Minimum gravity is zero. I’d always thought of airball as an idiot’s game, and I still do, but that evening I enjoyed myself. And I was impressed with the flexibility and skill of the players.

The action begins when the referee, with the gravity set at .1, flips the ball high in the air, and the players go up after it.

The Conneltown team wore gold uniforms, which were embroidered with the team name in blazing script and a shoulder patch depicting a fire-spouting dragon.

The crowd roared when, during the opening minute, Brian Lewis took advantage of .2 gravity to leap high over a defender and, as they say in the sport, nail the target as it was passing.

A sizable contingent from Tylerville was apparently present. So both teams had substantial crowd support. It was a close game, and, to the dismay of the locals, the Hawks scored the deciding goal as time ran out.

Everybody looked exhausted when it ended. We waited in the parking area and spotted Bannister as he came out of the crowd. “Doug,” said Alex, “do you have a minute?”

He stood trying to figure out if he knew Alex. Then he looked at me and smiled. “Sure,” he said. “What can I do for you?” He had a thin voice, and you had to listen closely to hear what he was saying.

Alex did the introductions. Then: “Doug, you and Mr. Lewis picked up a rock tablet two days ago in Rindenwood.”

“Yes. That’s right. Is there a problem?” He seemed a bit nervous. But maybe he was always nervous in the presence of strangers. Or maybe of strange women. He had cinnamon-colored hair, which was already growing thin, and his eyes never quite got clear of the ground.

“No. No problem. We’re interested in buying the tablet. Do you still have it?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me who does?”

A woman who had the right dimensions and hair to be the one who’d helped make the pickup appeared from somewhere. I hadn’t seen her in the stands. “This is my wife, Ara,” Doug said.

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Ara said. She was still in her flighty years. But she looked good. Inquisitive dark eyes, black hair cut short, and the body of a dancer. I realized right away she was in charge of the marriage. She simply took over from Doug. “Mr. Benedict,” she said, “we were bringing it back for our aunt. But while we were en route, she decided she didn’t want it.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, when we showed it to her, from the skimmer, she said that wasn’t the same one that she’d seen in the ad.”

“It wasn’t the same one?”

“She meant it was more worn than she’d expected.”

“Oh.”

She shrugged. “So she said she didn’t want it.”

“What did you do with it?”

“We dropped it in the river.”

“In the river?” Alex couldn’t conceal his horror.

“Yes. She thought it was an artifact, but after she saw it, she said it was worthless.”

“Oh.”

“And she’d know. She collects stuff like that.”

We had caught Brian Lewis’s attention. He came over, and we did the introductions again. “Sorry,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice when he heard what we were after. “Yeah. That’s what happened to it. It’s in the river.”

“Can you tell us where in the river?” asked Alex.

“Near the Trafalgar Bridge,” said Ara.

“Right.” Doug made a face, trying to recall details. “We were about a kilometer from the bridge when we ditched it.”

“Which side?”

“The east side,” said Ara. “I thought it was more than a kilometer, though. More like three or four.”

Brian thought about it. “Yeah,” he said. “That might be right.”

Alex gave them business cards. “Call me if you remember anything else, okay?”

They assured him they would. Brian walked away while Ara and Doug climbed into a white-and-gold Sentinel. It was the same one they’d used to collect the tablet.

Alex called Audree Hitchcock, a longtime friend who did oceanic surveys for the Geologic Service. “We’re looking for a rock,” he said.

“Beg pardon, Alex?” At the beginning of her career, Audree had worked for Gabe, Alex’s uncle. She and Alex saw each other socially on occasion, but it seemed to be more friendship than romance. Audree was a bright, energetic blonde with intense blue eyes and a passion for the theater. She belonged to the Seaside Players, a local amateur group.

“It’s a tablet, Audree.” He showed her.

“What’s it worth?”

“We’re not sure yet. Probably nothing.”

“But maybe a lot?”

“Maybe.”

“And somebody dropped it into the river?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Call it bad judgment. Can we rent you for a day?”

“Where, precisely, did they drop it?”

“East of the Trafalgar Bridge. They say it’s somewhere between one and four klicks.”

“Okay. We’ll take a look. It’ll be a couple of days before we can get to it, though.”

“Good. And, Audree?”

“Yes, Alex.”

“Don’t put a lot of effort into it. If it doesn’t show up on the first effort, let it go.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure I believe the story.”

“Okay. I’ll do what I can. By the way, Alex—”

“Yes, Audree?”

“We’re doing Moving Target this weekend.”

“You’re in it?”

“I’m the target.”

“I’m not surprised. Can you set a night aside for me?”