Firebird

ELEVEN

The value of an object is whatever we assign it to be. It is not anchored in economics, but in the imagination.

— Timothy Zhin-Po, Night Thoughts, 10,002 C.E.

I was on my approach to the country house when Straight Talk started. Deryk Colter was their guest. Colter was an historian, tall and thin and passionate. He'd made a career of finding fault with Alex, and immediately after sitting down, he began going on about the sanctity of the past and how we could not seriously progress unless we learned from it. He was appalled at the dearth of historical knowledge by the general public. And he was particularly dismayed by those who understood the importance of looking back, of avoiding the same old blunders, but who nevertheless saw no contradiction in robbing humanity of its cultural heritage, of trampling it for profit. He was, of course, speaking of Alex. “The man is insufferable,” he was saying as I started down toward the landing pad. “He's trying to make Chris Robin look like an erratic genius who may have opened a door to other realities, then walked through it. The truth is that Robin probably wasn't paying attention to what he was doing and fell into the ocean. Anyone who's ever been out to Virginia Island knows how easily that could have happened. Maybe he had a little too much to drink. In any case, Benedict is not to be taken seriously. Not in this matter. And I don't mean to take anything away from his achievements. I grant him all that. But in the end, he's a salesman, and he can't be trusted.”

The host, Charles Koeffler, managed to look disconcerted. “What you're saying, Deryk, is that he'll do anything for money. Is that your position?”

I shut the thing off before Colter could answer. And I came down on the pad a bit harder than I might have. The AI quietly pointed out that he'd warned me several times about listening to talk shows while I was running the skimmer.

I grumbled something, climbed out, and walked toward the house, not sure whether I was more annoyed with Colter or with the AI. Jacob opened the door for me and said hello. I said hello back, went inside, took off my jacket, dropped my notebook on my desk, and wondered why I was living in a place with such a cold climate.

I was still getting settled when Alex came downstairs. He was smiling, looking as if he'd just left a party. “Welcome home, beautiful,” he said. “This place feels empty without you.”

I was in no mood for banter. “Alex, I don't know why you keep doing this. These guys are ripping us apart.”

“You mean Garland?”

“No. Has he been torching us, too? I was talking about Colter-”

“Yeah. Well, we're a pretty good target at the moment. But they're playing right into our hands. Giving us more traction. The interest in the Robin artifacts is going through the roof. By the way, we'll be running the auction in a couple of days.”

“What about your reputation?”

“I'll be fine. Chase, if you do anything creative, anything at all, you have to learn to live with critics. The charges aren't true. All I've done is bring to public attention the fact that Robin had some unusual preoccupations. And I reminded them that he'd disappeared. Those guys, Garland and Colter and the rest, this is their only chance to get out in front of an audience. Relax.”

“I don't think we should let them get away with it.”

“I'm not much interested in throwing mud. Our clients trust us. That's what's important.”

“That's not the only thing that's important.”

He grinned. “I'm glad to have you looking out for me.”

“I don't like being insulted by those idiots.”

“I know. Well, for what it's worth, I've arranged to be on Kile's show tonight.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Chase, not to change the subject or anything, but did you know that, the night of Robin's disappearance, the investigators were able to determine that only three skimmers left Virginia Island?”

“I hadn't heard that. But one would have been enough to carry him off. I assume they checked them out?”

“One was Cermak. The other two were locals, and the police were convinced neither could have been involved in his disappearance.”

“I can't see how they could make that determination.”

“From tracker readings. They wouldn't be definite, but they'd be close enough.”

“Did you pass it on to Ramsay?”

“I've been saving it. I'll use it this evening on the show.” He went into lecture mode: “Always have something new when you go on one of these things. Throws the critics off stride.” He eased himself down onto the love seat. “How was the trip?”

“I'm pretty sure Robin isn't an alien.”

“Sorry to hear it. I saw what you gave Ramsay. It was pretty good.”

“I thought about telling him how people used to see Robin walking the streets whenever the moon was full, but I thought I'd better let it go.”

“You get anything more on the lost yachts?”

“I don't know. Maybe. Greg Cermak, Eliot's brother, said that Eliot told him they'd taken the Firebird out two hundred billion klicks.”

“And-?”

“Two hundred billion kilometers takes them absolutely nowhere. It would be way outside the planetary system.”

“And of course Beta Marikon-?”

Beta Marikon, of course, is our nearest stellar neighbor. “Nowhere close,” I said. “They would simply have been in the pit.”

“You think the brother might have been mistaken?”

“Sure. Still, he seemed certain that was what Eliot had said.”

He thought about it. “Something to file.” He started for the door. “When you've a minute, come on back. I've something to show you.”

After I got organized, I followed him to his office in the rear. He poured coffee for me and got out some sticky buns. I settled into a chair. “I just hate the personal attacks,” I said.

“I know. Audree feels the same way. She thinks I should retire and just sit out here for the rest of my life.”

“You know, nobody 's really suggesting that. But we could lower our profile a little.”

“That would take all the fun out of it.”

“Look, Alex. You mind if I tell you what I really think?”

“I wasn't aware you haven't been doing that all along.”

“You've accomplished more than most people dream of. Kids look up to you. Everybody except people like Colter respects you. And he's just jealous. They'll name some schools after you one day. But who knows when it might all turn around. I'm tired of watching you risk your reputation.”

“Chase-”

“Let me finish: For you, this is always a game. It's the same game you played with your uncle. It almost destroyed your relationship with him. It's time to give it up. It really is. You don't need the money. God knows you don't need the celebrity.” I wanted to stop, but I couldn't. “Screw it up now, one misstep, and it's going to be gone. If people start to believe these stories, it'll be over. Once they decide you're a con artist, you won't get your reputation back. Not ever.” I was trying to hold my temper in check.

“Chase.” He looked offended. “I have an obligation to our clients, too.” He stopped and stared at me. “Is that what you think I am? A con artist?”

“Sometimes, Alex, I'm not so sure.”

“Okay.” His face paled. “Chase-” Then he bit down on whatever he was about to say. I don't think I'd ever seen him seriously angry with me before. “All right,” he said. “Let it go.” He took a piece out of one of the buns, pushed them across to me, and chewed silently. When he'd finished, he commented that Jacob had come across another sighting that we hadn't known about previously.

The display lit up, and we were looking at a dispatch dated 1385.

(KPR) An unidentified ship passed within tracking range of Tippimaru last night. Authorities at the space station reported that the vehicle did not respond to repeated directives to turn flight control over to the operations center. All attempts at communication proved fruitless.

Failure to comply put the vehicle in violation of at least six provisions of the transport code. An investigation is under way.

An operational representative added that no one was in danger at any time.

“That's interesting,” I said. “I hope you're not going to tell me that Chris Robin was there again?”

He smiled. “No. I'd have liked it if he had been.” A hologram appeared in the center of the room. Reporters at one of the terminals. Hurling questions at a woman in a StarCorps uniform. “They're saying that it wasn't a standard drive, Commander. Is it possible it was an alien?”

“Did you actually see the thing, Commander?”

“What did it look like to you?”

She held out her hands. “One at a time, please.” They quieted. “I can't believe you guys are asking me seriously about aliens.” She smiled. Foolish notion. “Give us a little time, and I'm sure we'll figure out what happened out there this morning. To start with, I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be a Mute.”

“Well,” I said, “Mutes are aliens.”

“Not anymore.” Alex looked amused. He poured two glasses of orange juice and passed one over. “This one never amounted to much. Tippimaru's a small out-of-the-way place, and nobody pays much attention to what goes on there. But they never did come up with an explanation.”

“Did they check with the Mutes?”

“Yes. They said it wasn't one of theirs.” He sat back, looked out at the morning sun. “I think we should do a little traveling, Chase.”

“Tippimaru?”

“No. Remember Tereza Urbanova?”

“Umm. Not exactly.”

“She was the Ops officer at Sanusar.”

“Okay. Yes, of course.”

“Jacob found an interesting posting about her online.”

“Really?”

“Her husband is quoted by a friend as saying she never got over the sighting.”

“Why not?” I asked. It wasn't as if the incident had threatened the station.

“I don't know. But she's still at Sanusar. Retired now.”

We watched every available visual involving Robin that we could find. He gave out awards, addressed community gatherings, presided over graduations. He was an accomplished speaker and invariably won over his audience right from the start because he consistently made them, rather than himself, the center of his remarks. If the audience was composed primarily of teachers and librarians, he inevitably pointed out that it was teachers and librarians who had given us civilization. On one occasion we watched him talk to a crowd of law-enforcement officials, and he observed that it was the police who held civilization together. With engineers and architects, he doted on the sheer joy of living in a modern city, with its combination of convenience and majesty.

He was good.

The Carmichael Club was a group of mathematicians who'd loved him, and apparently had invited him in at every opportunity. They took particular pleasure in jousting with him. They tended to talk about a hidden universe rather than an alternate one. And during the Q amp;A sessions, he was invariably asked the off-the-wall questions that everyone enjoyed. Was entanglement evidence of another level of cosmic law? Had he yet found a bridge for crossing over to another reality? If there was an alternate Chris Robin out there somewhere, was there any chance he was a lawyer?

“But here's something I wanted you to see,” said Alex.

At one of the Carmichael events, a young woman with auburn hair got the floor for a moment. “In all seriousness, Professor Robin,” she said, “you often speak of blue sky science. You're enthusiastic about concepts that may always be beyond our reach. How much effort are you willing to expend, how far are you willing to go, on, say, the shadow universe, before you concede that no proof is possible?”

Robin nodded. “How far am I willing to go? What's my transportation look like?”

Laughter rippled through the audience. “Whatever you like.”

“Okay. Whatever it takes. Put me in the Constellation, and I'll ride to the other side of the Milky Way. If I'm on foot, I'll walk a thousand kilometers, if I have to, to get the result I need.”

Someone in front jumped in: “Why a thousand kilometers?”

“Because I'll be headed south, into better weather, and a thousand kilometers will bring me more or less to the shoreline.” That got more laughter. Then he continued: “I guess what I'm trying to say, Catherine, in my mangled way, is that the chase is never over.”

“So, Alex,” I said, “what did we learn from that?”

“Hold on. Here's something from an address to undergraduates at Que Pakka University. Robin had been telling them how shy he'd been as a graduate student, and how important it was that he'd learned to trust himself, how it was something they all needed to do. “Until you believe in yourself,” he said, “no one else will believe in you. Except maybe your mother. No one else will ever take you seriously.”

A male student, moments later, commented that it was hard to believe that Robin had ever been shy. “You've come a long way, Professor,” he said.

Robin nodded. “A thousand kilometers. And I had to. Or I would never have had the opportunity to speak with you.”

“He likes the reference,” I said. “A thousand kilometers.”

“I found six other times that he used it.”

“Okay. So what do we take from that?”

“All eight occasions occur between 1389 and 1393. I couldn't find any prior to that period.”

“I still don't see-”

“I know. It probably means nothing. But it's worth keeping in mind. It certainly seems to have been in his.”

Alex went on the Kile Ritter Show that evening, where he was his usual charming self while describing his interest in the missing physicist and how he certainly didn't want to suggest that Robin had walked across a bridge into an alternate reality, but of course that was what some people thought. “The problem with a lot of our critics,” he said, “is that their minds are closed. Shut down. Anything that doesn't fit easily into their worldview, they won't even consider as a possibility. Kile, as you know, that's not the way science works.”

Three days later, we held the auction. The books, especially the ones with the more outrageous handwritten comments by Robin, brought in most of the money. That was no surprise. They had the personal touch that most of the other items lacked. It was why a functioning AI, that could have re-created conversations with Robin, would have been worth a small fortune. The Carpathian hat also did well. (Robin had actually owned two. He had apparently been wearing the other one when he went missing. It was just as well, Alex said. A lone Carpathian hat would be more valuable than the total for two of them.)

The auction was held in a center-city hotel. Alex had several of the pictures enhanced, and they were projected onto the walls. One that particularly caught my interest was an idyllic image of Robin and his wife standing arm in arm under a tree. It was early evening, and they were looking out to sea. A sailboat was tacking away toward the setting sun, and it seemed somehow suggestive of what would later happen.

We framed a number of the pictures, and they went, too. Along with certificates guaranteeing exclusive possession.

You can measure success by the level of disappointment among those who don't get what they want. Please notify me, they were saying, if anything else shows up.

When it was over, Alex called me aside. “Audree and I are going to see The Last Rebel over the weekend. I've two extra tickets if you'd like to come.”

“It's an opera, isn't it?”

“It's a ballet.”

“Well, thanks,” I said. “But I don't think so. I'm not much for ballet. Especially the prehistoric stuff.”

“Consider it part of the work, Chase. We may come across one of these productions someday. Most of them are lost.”

“I wonder why.”

“You're sure, now? The offer includes dinner.”

Jack McDevitt

Firebird